Puzzle 3301
by KaileyF0x
Summary: This fan fiction, set about three decades after the events in UF/LF, stars Clive (of course) and his daughter Justine, following the two as they uncover the secrets of a set of ancient artefacts and a very powerful organisation that will stop at nothing to obtain them.
1. Prologue

_Trembling fingers. That's all he could think about. Trembling fingers and wobbling legs. Like they were made of jelly—the only thing he could choke down for lunch._

Don't think about lunch. Else you'll be seeing it again…

 _His hair was dishevelled, he just knew it. He'd run his hand through enough times in the past twenty minutes to require a good hour-long combing. And the sweat. Slick and cold. A few drops separated now from the colony that had beaded at his russet sideburns, slipping down his pale cheeks, tracing his jawline. The combination of moisture and heat made his flesh crawl. And the collared dress shirt underneath the waistcoat all underneath the large, buttoned lab jacket didn't exactly remedy the situation… He pulled at his tie. Had the thing tightened since his arrival on this stage?_

Oh god…

 _He stopped fidgeting at once to look up._ _The stage. So consumed with anxiety he was he'd nearly forgotten. And now that he recalled his situation, he was nearly swallowed whole._

What if I lose my voice the moment I begin to speak? Or I faint? What if I trip while walking up to the stage…?

 _He glanced to the crowd, his stare flitting from shadowed figure to shadowed figure. There must have been thousands here!_

 _Thousands. Meaning two-thousand scrutinising eyes trained onto his plump body like infrared lasers. And an infinite amount of judgement riddling him like bullets…_

Pull yourself together, _he attempted to reassure himself, though tugging at his soaked collar didn't provide the thought much conviction._ You're a physicist. Intelligent enough to understand what's unknown to most of society! All you must do is tell them what they wish to hear…

 _As a newly employed physicist he hadn't had much chance to give many presentations. Though, that didn't matter much in this situation, he supposed. Even if he did possess experience in flattering other fellow scientists, this speech would be unlike any other. His viewers were not equal to him in any way. Not even higher ups like parliament. Instead, they were members of a rather powerful organisation, so far above on the societal chain of command, they existed beyond it. He'd been told it had hands in every faction of the world, able to seize hold of whomever it needed—individual people, cities, even governments of whole countries—to achieve its goals yet it remained unseen, unheard and unknown. That was—the physicist swallowed—until someone made a mistake. Then the organisation was the last thing that individual simultaneously saw, heard and knew before they mysteriously disappeared. He twisted a button on his lab coat. Somehow, the more the jacket pulled taut against his large build, the smaller he felt._

 _A loud clatter sounded from far above, making the physicist flinch, and a spotlight was suddenly glaring down upon the podium at the front of the stage. It was time… He took a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill with air, then began to walk._

There's no need to fear them, _he reassured one last time. His footfalls were practically deafening, each heavy plod punching through the dense silence of the shadowy crowd that threatened to ensnare his attention. But, he somehow fought against it, focusing on the podium alone._ They see themselves as the most dominant force in the world. They're arrogant, narcissistic! After all, it is _my_ scientific knowledge, _my_ working behind the scenes that has allowed them to exist at all. Without me, they wouldn't even have a clue as to how to go about locating the Powers. If I must alter some of the details to earn my pay, so be it.

 _He looked off to the side._

As long as I choose my words wisely, they'll never know I've not completed their request…

 _With this final warning, the physicist stepped up to the podium and began._

 _"Good evening…" he said. "M-My name is…Zero-five as you've labelled me…" With each word, he could feel his confidence slipping and so he faced his fear head on, looked out into the crowd and threw their hidden judgement back at them…or so he attempted. Instead, he unintentionally noted the rows upon rows of chairs towering above the stage…above him… Each one hosting a higher rank than the last. Every one of those ranks capable of taking his life… His confidence plummeted yet again._

 _"I-I'm Zero-five… A-At one point I was but a n-no one…to you… But now, after decoding your cypher, I…am considered someone—an intelligent individual, Subject Zero-five—in your eyes…who can provide you with results. Y-You certainly won't be disappointed…" He paused. Peeked up. No one was readying a weapon to kill him as of yet… he acknowledged. Perhaps they weren't judging him as harshly as he'd first thought… He cleared his throat and spoke up a bit. "You see… I not only solved your puzzle, but understood the hidden message within its solution. Your goal, which you've been working so diligently towards for aeons, is to harness the power of time. This desire is not unheard of._

 _"Time and time travel, the ability to change the past and witness the future, this has been on man's mind since the beginning of time itself. And though once impossible, we have discovered new technologies for overcoming such a feat. This is precisely why I have gathered the organisation here today." And suddenly, as he thought of his goals, of how his speech must be resonating with them, Zero-five was filled with a rush of self-assurance. He leaned into the microphone and raised his voice with his next words. "For you, I have built a time machine!" He paused for a moment, waiting for the crowd to react, then, too late, recalled the demanding audience to whom he was presenting. Once again he was reduced to a sweaty, fidgeting mess, worse than ever before… "Th-This time m-machine…will not only send objects through time…but also draw out the very P-Power you've sought… It will be ready quite soon I'm happy to annou—"_

 _"Soon?"_

 _Zero-five cut himself off at this interruption, the silence that now collapsed down upon the auditorium once more pressing against his chest, his lungs, his throat…_

 _"S-Sorry…?"_ _he stuttered. Had he said something wrong? The lower front rows from which the voice had spoken were reserved for inferior ranks of the organisation, but the tone had held so much clout any confidence that had remained inside him now melted away through his feet, leaving his legs feeling like jelly yet again._

 _"Didn't we agree, Subject Zero-five,"_ _another voice recounted, "the time machine would be ready_ tonight _?"_

 _The physicist's mouth grew dry as he replayed through his mind all he had just said. The test… Time travel… Time machine… Then he realised his mistake._ 'Soon…' _Hadn't he just reminded himself to choose his words wisely?!_

 _"Tonight…yes…"_ _His words came slowly, his eyes flitting about the floor as if searching for answers…or a hole to jump into… "That is what I meant by 'soon'…"_

 _"Are you lying to_ us _, Subject Zero-five?"_

 _The physicist winced as if this accusation had been as tangible as a punch in the teeth._

 _"I…I guarantee the time machine will be ready…"_

 _"Tonight?" yet another member repeated in a firm demand._

" _Y-Yes!_ "

 _Zero-five grit his teeth, closing his eyes wearily. He was in trouble… He hadn't finished the machine fully and though it was more likely to succeed than malfunction at this point, his scientific instinct shouted to withhold testing. Even a one thousandth of a per cent failure rate meant something could go wrong! But of course he couldn't possibly tell the organisation this… It was crucial, absolutely imperative, he reassure them! Or else he may lose his position, his money… He squeezed his eyelids tight. …and his own life…_

 _"Yes, tonight!"_ _he repeated, forcing an inflection of enthusiasm to mask the terror that saturated every fibre of his being. His mind worked through plan after plan to regain their trust. Tell them something incredible!_ _"I will run it this evening using…one of my colleagues! You will be the first to see a human being travel through time and return…"_ _he hesitated, "unharmed…"_

 _There was a pause as Zero-five waited for any sign of confirmation and when none were forthcoming, he assumed this was a signal to move on with the rest of his speech. But just as he began, unsatisfied and suspicious utterances rose from the crowd._

 _"Wha…?" he himself uttered, watching on in dismay as member after member began to stand from their chairs and line up in rows along the ascending isles. They were leaving! "I'm not done!" It was clear, however, the organisation wouldn't waste another moment listening to what they had already deemed unimportant. Something else… He needed something else to stop them! "If—_ when _—this test succeeds," he leaned over the podium as he desperately called them back, "it will work grand for the Powers!"_

 _There came the sound of someone turning swiftly around—the sharp clack of a footfall, the crinkle of a well-ironed suit—before the flash of light glaring off numerous medals and badges caught Zero-five's eye._

 _"Enough of your pathetic prattling,"_ _a voice, quiet, and cold enough to send a chill up his spine, snapped at him._ _"We will arrive at the laboratory at seven o'clock sharp. When we do, the machine_ will _be ready."_

 _The foreboding tone was enough to frighten him but Zero-five was completely paralysed upon seeing the man's eyes glowering down upon him. This was the leader—the Commander—of the organisation, he realised, and an ominous inkling told him the man never spoke to an outsider unless that individual would be one of the few to mysteriously disappear…_

 _These thoughts had preoccupied Zero-five not more than a split second and yet when he returned, he suddenly found himself standing totally and completely alone._ _They were gone, the organisation. He looked to the door. No sign of it having been used at all… He looked to the floor. No trap hatch. Then the walls, and the ceiling. There was nothing they could have escaped through that fast, and yet they were gone… And he should have been relieved. They were no longer here to observe his every move, every word, every mistake. But their presence seemed to linger, causing him to feel even more paranoid._

 _He didn't have time to ponder. One_ _thing he knew was certain: the organisation's abrupt departure was more a problem than when they had first arrived. His speech was meant to be a sort of appetiser for their minds, some food for thought while they waited to see the machine in action. But rather than enticing the organisation, he had repulsed them. Perhaps it had been silly to think he could ever win them over with mere words, details altered or not. Yes, he needed something more. He must_ show _them the time machine would indeed work as he said it did._

 _Unfortunately for him, unlike words, he couldn't alter the details of an unsuccessful experiment the organisation witnessed with their own eyes…_

 _With this final foreboding weighing on his mind, Zero-five hurried off for the laboratory and set to work straightaway on the time machine. For hours he laboured tirelessly—hammering, testing, nailing, testing, soldering, testing… However, any modifications were ineffective as each test subject resulted in a rather fiery failure._

 _Despite his now frazzled nerves and weary limbs tempting him to give in, Zero-five knew he couldn't stop, and as his second wind forced him onward, he realised he could have cut his time in half, possibly even succeeded by now if he'd utilised some assistance. His colleague… She wasn't exactly the brilliant physicist he was, but maybe she could save him… In a rush of anticipation, he rang his colleague, speaking rapidly, keeping the conversation short so as to deter any unwanted questions. He didn't have the time to explain…and there was no reason for her to know his intentions anyway. They just needed to get this done and done right._

 _But even with his colleague's help, it seemed no amount of effort put in by one, two or any number of physicists would ever make the machine function properly. Each and every test continued to fail, solidifying Zero-five's worries the machine was not ready, and by the time the organisation was meant to arrive he was at wits' end._

 _"Why are you so worried?"_ _his colleague asked in playful exasperation as she hung up her lab jacket, heading for the break room. It was nearly seven, two hours since her friend had called her in, and she hadn't the chance to enjoy tea before leaving._ _"Let's continue working on it this week. We'll get it eventually!"_

 _They didn't have eventually… Zero-five thought, palm pressed to his forehead, elbow digging into his leg. They had tonight and that was it! What to do…? What to do?!_

 _But he knew he was out of time. He'd have to take drastic measures now. Jumping to his feet, Zero-five strode into the break room and gripped his colleague's arm, dragging her away from the table._

 _"What are you doing?" she yelped, barely catching her footing. "The least you could do for calling me here so late is allow me my tea! Might I remind you," she added, sulking, "I was in the middle of celebrating my fiancée's initiation as a professor as well…"_

 _"I need you to be a volunteer to test the time machine," Zero-five said. She gave him a funny look, but he swept on before she could interrupt. "You must!"_

 _Just then, the door opened and Zero-five didn't need to hear the multitude of footsteps clacking inside to know who it was. The organisation was here. Struck with terror, he took his colleague by the shoulders and hid behind a wall, both trying to keep her from seeing the throng of black suits and they from seeing them. But it was already too late._

 _"What is the meaning of this?" his colleague peeked out into the crowd, lowering her voice to a nervous whisper. "Did you invite the whole of London?!"_

Think fast… How to get her to comply…?

 _"They…got word of the time machine and now they wish to see it…" Yes, that's a convincing excuse… "They'll want a human subject, though…"_

 _"But it still doesn't—" she began before an impatient call cut her off._

 _"Subject Zero-five, where are you? We've not got all night!"_

 _"Subject Zero-five…?" his colleague asked, bewildered._

 _He didn't pause to answer her query nor had he wanted to in the first place. Some things were best left up to imagination… With her by the wrist, Zero-five rushed off to meet the organisation. He knew what he had to do._

 _"Yes, hello, everyone," he sputtered. "T-This is my colleague and she will be assisting me in demonstrating our greatest invention yet!"_

 _She gave a curt nod while glaring sideways at Zero-five, trying to catch his eye._

 _"Please…" she called to him. Still he didn't look and she gasped as her friend jerked her towards the time machine. What was he thinking…?_

 _"L-Ladies and gentlemen!" Zero-five decreed. "The moment you've all been waiting for!"_

 _"Wait!" his colleague tried again._

 _He pressed a few buttons…_

 _"I will now demonstrate…"_

 _"Stop!"_

 _…Turned a few dials…_

 _"…in this lab…"_

 _"Please!"_

 _…typed an equation…_

 _"…The power of space time!"_

 _…then finally, Zero-five looked into his colleague's eyes._

 _Everything seemed to pause for a moment as she watched him, tacitly willing him to let her go. But his blue eyes narrowed, shining hard and cold as ice. And it was then the truth collapsed down upon her. He…was using her… He didn't consider her a friend. He barely considered her a person… No, she was a test subject. Like the pencil earlier that had exploded or the paper that had caught fire. She was an object to be used, all for his personal gain._

 _And she would perish because of it._

Ka-chunk!

 _With this final clatter, Zero-five threw a lever and the time machine whirred to life._

 _For but a moment the tension in the room seemed to lift as heartbeat after heartbeat the machine simply hissed and sputtered, its gears working, the hands of its clock face tick-tocking in time. Zero-five was utterly awestruck, the gears of his own mind churning as he digested that his experiment had been a success. That money would soon be his…! Even his colleague began to straighten from her cowering position, nearly smiling as relief flooded through her. Maybe time travel really was possible. Maybe she wouldn't die after all!_

 _And then this moment passed. It started with a soft clank as something inside fractured, clacking and working against itself, growing louder and longer and more violent before the entire mechanism snapped in two. Suddenly, the gears weren't turning, but gyrating, faster and faster and the readings on the machine's screen repeated thousands, millions of lines of red 'error' messages and the hands of the clock were spinning out of control… Everyone in the lab began to run. The colleague, taking her first step towards safety out of the collapsing hunk of metal. Zero-five, just beginning to turn round. The members of the organisation, backing up, all moving as one._

 _But it was already too late. There came a shockwave, fast and forceful. Then a blaring noise that shredded all eardrums in range. A white hot fire. Grey rising smoke. A wall. Drops of blood. The floor. A bleary thought of multi-coloured Powers… Yellow, orange, red…_

 _Then black._

 _Wake up…_

Slowly, painfully, Zero-five returned. Everything was suddenly very quiet. Very still. A chill settled on his exposed face and neck and persistently pressed against his clothing, nearly seizing his arms through his thin sleeves. A migraine pulsed through his head with each heartbeat. There was an occasional plop of thick globs off in the distance, then the stuffing lining his ears cleared and sounds became crisp, the plopping globs turning to drips of water droplets. He began to open his eyes. For but a moment after, the machine, his colleague, every member of the organisation and the lab remained before him as memory and reality collided, then all of it—all thirty or so years—swiftly melted away. His surroundings reformed into his current location—another laboratory, underground, cold, wet, and grey with stone. He gave a heavy sigh, then a gruff, wry chuckle. Once again he'd slipped into the past. Funny… He didn't seem to need a time machine for that. Not as of late, at least…

What had happened back then… It felt as though it'd only been yesterday. This was not because the memories were vivid. Time had eaten away at them, making them patchy at best, and this was especially so for those after the experiment had gone array. He knew the time machine had detonated. His colleague had been killed. More than half the members of the organisation had perished. But the details—the sights, sounds, scents, feelings—of the memories were absent.

No, these memories were familiar for an entirely different reason. Zero-five placed a hand on his once smooth forehead, now winkled with age, drawing his fingers through thin, grey hair and looked about. At the moist stone. The single lamp above whose sickly yellow light was nearly drowned out by the vast, encroaching darkness. The table in which he had experimented again and again in an effort to find something, anything. And then, that vile sheet of paper declaring his last day of freedom. That explosion and all the ruminations it had etched into his mind were connected to this. His demise.

He had spent years covering it up… So much money, so much power and influence he had been provided, all of which he was forced to use as dirt to bury what had happened. But then those two had come along… Digging up that dirt, raising the incident from the dead like the rotting corpse it was… He'd only wanted his money. Ever since he had got involved with the organisation, that was all he'd ever desired. Money and just a tad of influence in the world. But this dream had failed… Not only had that incident taken it away from him, but now those two men—a professor and a reporter—were attempting—succeeding—at throwing him into a dump…a right bloody rubbish tip filled with lowlifes and thugs! Someone of his intellect certainly didn't belong there! If only the boy had died alongside his parents… If only he had killed himself in his madness… Then he wouldn't have to endure at least part of this suffering.

But…Zero-five thought as the present and all it held for him fully returned. He had a plan. From his trouser pocket he withdrew just the tip of a photograph—his trophy. It had taken his own kidnapping, a near-death experience, the destruction of the city that provided just a small percentage of the sum he'd truly wanted for him to become so crafty, and soon he'd use such cunning to enact his revenge…on everyone. He only needed one more very special man for this equation to work.

Just then, sharp clacking footfalls echoed on the stone steps outside, loudly announcing someone's presence.

And he was here.

A heavy steel door began to open, its creaking reverberating all about the area, and a bright, unnatural light from a very different section of the lab, one not even he was allowed to enter, gradually poured in. It filled nearly every nook, every crevice, everything—except the one who had let it in. He remained a silhouette, the slim man standing at the entryway, his eyes—or at least the undamaged one—moving in the last bit of dark veiling him, surveying the area, like a predator before the hunt. And like all good predators, he hunted best in the dark. He closed the groaning door again, the light retreating, darkness falling once more until it swallowed him whole. Then he began. _Clack…Clack…Clack…_ Those sharp footfalls echoed about, drawing nearer and nearer, and Zero-five was left to listen like a fish alerted to the presence of a shark. Suddenly a flash from the single lamp's light glinted off something in the dark. That was how close he was already… Zero-five thought. The glimmer was from a multitude of medals pinned to the man's chest. He was, after all, the Commander of the organisation. Not the same bloke who had reprimanded him all those years ago when he'd stood shaking up on that horrid stage. He'd been killed, hence the reason he was still alive…though just barely. This man was entirely different. And far more intimidating… Zero-five glanced to the Commander as he now entered the light, focusing on his left eye. He shivered. Things could go south rather quick here if he didn't calculate this out right. The extraction process had not been started and if he learnt of that… But as long as he kept his plans in mind, he had nothing to worry about…

"Good evening, Zero-five," the Commander said, his words rumbling like grating rocks.

This sentence would have been a greeting if said by anyone else. But Zero-five knew from prior visits and past experience this wasn't so with the Commander. Instead, he was testing him. Prompting him to show his obedience.

"Good evening, Commander Thanat," he returned quickly, crossing a fist over his heart. He absolutely despised bowing to this man who had been treating him like a puppet for decades now, controlling and torturing him… It made him sick. But he had to remember this charade was about over. Soon everyone would be his puppet to control…

" _Subject_ _Zero-five…_ " The physicist jumped to attention at the Commander's rumbling call. "You are listening, yes?"

"M-My apologies, sir. Please continue…"

"It's about time for your final trial." The Commander folded his hands behind his back, his perfectly ironed black suit crinkling around his slim build. "I suppose this was inevitable. You're prepared as is?"

And much like the Commander's greeting, such a question was not really a question, either. He _was_ prepared as is. If he wasn't, he most certainly would be in a matter of seconds.

"Yes, sir. I'll be transported this evening…" He looked hopefully at the Commander. "If…you've found a solution for helping me, though, I can continue—"

"We can't interfere."

Zero-five's brow furrowed. This wasn't what they'd discussed…

"Not at all, sir…?"

"Not yet." The Commander shot him a look from his undamaged right eye. "We interfere, we risk revealing our search for the Powers."

Again, Zero-five glanced to the man's left eye. That black eyepatch… Thanat's glower was already frightening enough, but what was underneath that… He shook his head. He must suppress his fears, listen carefully to what Thanat was saying. After all, his own plans would intertwine with the man's. And the moment he was done giving him that information, he could begin setting his plot in motion. Now, for him to test the Commander.

"F-Forgive me in advance for asking, sir, but why waste your valuable time visiting if not to discuss how you'll help me? Surely you'll want me to continue the extraction process?"

The Commander closed his eye, his white-grey brow knit with impatience, emphasising the wrinkles of age…or they would have been of age if such an element still affected him. "I'm getting to that, Zero-five. Can't you curb your selfishness for one moment?"

"A-Apologies, sir…" He smiled internally. So far, so good…

"These recent events have compromised the plans I'd slaved over for decades now." The Commander thought of the Powers, how they were now just as far out of his reach as all the answers they would have provided him… But he hadn't come this far to face defeat. "I will be forced to rework them in the end. In order to begin this process and in as timely a manner as possible, I must gather some information from you." He trained his stony stare upon Zero-five. "Can I trust you this time to not be so incompetent you send me on another goose chase? Because, if not…"

Zero-five glanced quickly to the eyepatch again and sputtered, "Y-Yes, sir. I humbly apologise again for any false information I supplied in the past…" _That itself is a lie._ "What would you like to know?"

"Firstly, the experiment." Zero-five watched as just the hint of a wince crossed the Commander's features. He, in turn, allowed another very slight smile to cross his own. "I do hope its memories have not returned…"

"No, sir. The chances of that happening dropped to practically nil the moment it fused with a human."

"Very good." The Commander nodded curtly, his mind working, calculating, setting new parameters. "This may act as a double-edged sword, but it will open many opportunities to fulfil the end goal."

Zero-five shifted slightly. "A quick interjection about our original plans, if I may, sir… The professor… Is he still…?"

"I told you I'd be busy with the other project," he dismissed. The professor would be useful, but for now he had other much larger conditions to contemplate.

"I see…"

"Now, my second enquiry. I've spoken with the archaeologist about the Guardians and their puzzles and it would seem bonding with the experiment will assist in opening our eyes." Another wince crossed the Commander's features. Longer this time. "Where is it?"

Zero-five smiled again. "In the back, resting." He had only a theory as to what was causing the man's pain, but… Again, he thought of the photograph, of his trophy. His plans might be what pushed him over the edge… How grand it would be to control the most powerful man in this world!

"You've at least made some progress with the extraction, I hope?"

And with just this one question, Zero-five's arrogance vanished. His worst fears had come true… Thanat was asking about the extraction! He glanced into Thanat's one good eye. Like obsidian, it was hard, cold and dark. So very dark. Like a black hole that pulled the truth right from his lips.

"M-My apologies, Commander Thanat," he stuttered. Yes, it had been years and nothing had surfaced, but that wasn't his fault! He attempted squaring his shoulders, meeting Thanat's firm regard. This, however, was a mistake. Much had happened since the time machine's explosion, but even just catching a glance of the eyepatch in his peripheral and now with Thanat's added anger… It thrust him right back onto that stage when he stood before the organisation, his form quivering in terror. "Th-The process still hasn't…produced anything yet, sir…"

The Commander tipped his pointed nose up just slightly, fixing Zero-five in a crushing stare.

"So you've said in the past…" And then— _clack_ —he began to step forward. "You've been rather distracted tonight, Zero-five. And I sense this has nothing to do with aiding my plans…"

Zero-five swallowed, eyes wide, all thoughts reeling with one repetitious phrase. _Fight or flee._ Out of the two, he could do neither. "M-My deepest apologies, Commander! I—"

 _Clack._

"I'm beginning to think"—the Commander continued, lifting a hand to that horrid eyepatch—"you've been giving me false information yet again."

"Please, sir…!"

 _Clack._ He began to lift the patch.

"Perhaps the cypher wasn't solved…'as intended'?"

"Sir…!"

He stopped, leaned in, Zero-five pressing his plump body against the wall, clenching his eyes closed.

"An excuse used to further your own plot…?"

And then, just as the Commander revealed the very bottom of his damaged eye, Zero-five blurted, "A-Another puzzle!"

The Commander paused just centimetres from Zero-five, his fingers fixed at the cusp of his patch. He watched the pitiful man's lips tremble, listened to each choppy breath, smelled his fear.

"Hmm…?"

"Th-There's been…" he paused, swallowing, squeezing his eyes even tighter. He didn't need to see how close the man truly was to feel his sharp scrutiny like a dagger held right up against his throat, dissecting his every move. "There's been another puzzle…"

"Go on."

Zero-five ground his teeth. He hadn't wished to reveal this bit of his own plan, but if it kept him from being tortured… "It's…it's about…"

"Go on…" Thanat coaxed.

Maybe he could lie a bit to keep him from knowing everything…? But if Thanat found out… "I-It's about…the cell…"

"What about it…?"

No! Just tell him the truth! "It won't be j-just any cell…"

"Say what you need to say, Zero-five…" The grating rocks of the Commander's usual tone sounded more akin to the raucous crushing of boulders as he spoke through clenched teeth. He replaced his fingers just under his eyepatch.

Zero-five swallowed harder. "I-It's…"

And then, he crumpled. It had hit him just as the time machine's detonation had all those years ago. First the initial pain, so swift his brain knew about it before his body felt it, his unconscious forcing him to the floor before he was consciously aware he was even moving. Then the shockwave. Agony, sheer and excruciating, slammed into every fibre of his being, crushing him even further into the ground. His blue eyes bulged from his head, his mouth gaped, his hands scrabbled at his throat as spit and foam ran down the sides and strangled noises squeezing out through strained vocals.

"H-H-HEL…!" Zero-five tried to scream. "ELP…ME…!

But the Commander only studied the weak man, indifferent to his wheezing and writhing.

 _Pathetic._

"You should be grateful I've not yet strung you up by your neck." He replaced the patch and Zero-five drew a long, gasping breath before he collapsed and laid still, the rapid rising and falling of his chest his only movement. "Continue. Now."

However, the Commander received only a choke and sputter.

 _Absolutely pathetic._

One moment Zero-five was laying on the cold, wet ground, dazedly focused on his regulating heartbeat, his shallow breaths, his returning consciousness… Then there came a sharp clack, a flash of light and movement, the feeling of something hard slamming against his sternum, and his head was spinning once more.

" _Tell me_ …" boomed a voice all around him. " _Now!_ "

"Th-The Guard…!" Zero-five squealed, eyes wide with terror. He moved his legs, felt them churning in the air. The Commander had him by the collar of his shirt! "The Guardian has added a seal!"

And suddenly, Zero-five was on the floor once more. There came another movement from Thanat, so sudden it caused him to flinch and curl up in a foetal position. He stayed like this for several heartbeats, whimpering in expected pain. But when Zero-five didn't feel as if his throat was about to collapse or his chest was about to explode, he slowly looked up from his shielding arms to Thanat…and saw he was the one in immense pain this time.

"A seal…?" the Commander hissed, pressuring a hand to his forehead in an attempt to suppress the headaches that nearly split his skull.

"Y-Yes, sir…" Zero-five responded, watching on. If he was in this much agony from his mentioning the Guardian…

Another puzzle… the Commander deliberated. He couldn't believe it… It might take years to solve! First Zero-five's trials leading to the inevitable…now this… And he supposed that's just what she had wanted! He sucked in air through his teeth at the thought. This would halt the extraction process for far too long… And the other Powers… What to do…?

Whilst the Commander mulled over these developments, Zero-five began to contemplate himself. He was sick of Thanat, of the organisation itself. He was sick of being worried. Sick of having his life held above his head… He uncurled himself and shakily sat up, his cold eyes never leaving the Commander. Of course, Thanat would never kill him. He was far too valuable to the man. But the torture was enough. And he was so very sick of that too…

But what he had just experienced. It hadn't all been pain. He had learnt something from it, something that had finally solidified his working theory about Thanat. The man suffered headaches whenever the Guardian was mentioned. And if that was the case… He thought again of the photograph.

It was a rather good job he had already planned well in advance. The only equation he hadn't calculated out yet was how he'd continue to use the archaeologist. He supposed it would be rather arduous, but perhaps he could still pull some strings… He glanced again to Thanat who was still recovering. The man had told him some very valuable information just now and he didn't care if he wasn't finished. He'd had enough. He'd let the other man do the rest if need be. It was time to set things in motion.

"Commander Thanat," Zero-five began slowly, easing into his ruse. "I know you're suffering and it may be difficult to consider this…" He dug in his pocket and produced the back of the photograph which was scrawled with chaotic lines, etched over and over again. They seemed to resemble a name. "But, please, if anything might happen to jeopardise your use of the professor, involve this man. He too played a part in wrongfully convicting me and destroying your original plans." Zero-five smiled on the inside, keeping his actual expression sympathetic. Thanat had just begun to straighten, but soon he'd be on his own knees… "And this man destroyed something else, as well." He turned the photo around. "Nearly your entire life."

Upon looking to it, the Commander was given but a second to study the photo. A man, early twenties with russet hair… An oval face… A rather thin stature… Dressed in a prison uniform…

Then it hit him.

A hand flew to the Commander's forehead as images flashed behind his eyes. His home. His family. That…monstrosity…! And the overwhelming, suffocating flames! He placed his other hand on the experimenting table, leaning his full weight into the frigid steel surface as his knees buckled, nearly dropping him to the ground.

"You're in pain…" Zero-five said, his voice apprehensive, his demeanour shrinking with feigned worry. His eyes, however, stared the man down, cold and hard as ice. "I shouldn't have said anything…"

"Spare me your…" the Commander whispered through the throbbing caused by the flashbacks. He couldn't stop them this time and they continued to multiply, swarming against the inside of his skull until it was fit to burst. "Spare me your sympathy… No amount of pain…will obscure the truth from me…!" He suddenly looked up at Zero-five, forcing his wincing eye wide. "Tell me what you know!"

The spark was started. Now to fan the flames.

"This may come as quite the surprise, sir, and I would have told you earlier but I knew… _this_ was what would happen…" Zero-five moved the photo closer to the Commander who instinctively shrunk away. "He's the madman who was behind London's destruction, sir."

More flashbacks. More destruction. More rage…and tears. The Commander lifted a trembling hand and ripped the photo from Zero-five's fingers, moving it into view, forcing himself to look despite the excruciating anguish, staring at it as if willing it to burst into the same fire that now seared his insides.

"I know you've been searching rather diligently for answers, sir," Zero-five continued, studying Thanat. "You must have lost loads of sleep, skipped so many meals, all to figure out what had happened…" The Commander began to tremble. "I can't imagine the nightmares, sir. Forcing you to relive that tragedy again and again…" The Commander's lips parted in a grimace. His trembling grew more violent. "And the thoughts that haunted you every moment of every day… 'How could this happen?' 'Who could have done such a thing?' 'The military?' 'The government?'" Zero-five looked back to the photograph, a similar fire, though cold, stinging and harsh, in his eyes. "Neither. That destruction was due to a citizen. One single, worthless man…"

"He…" the Commander croaked, "he's the one…"

"And that professor was part of it this whole time," Zero-five said. "He was visiting him in prison. And you alerted him when you bribed him." He smiled. "He's the one who obscured his name…to keep you from knowing the truth."

For a moment longer, the Commander remained weak, his entire body encased in shakes, his eye wide and wild, his ducktail-styled hair dishevelled. This man… He was the one who had… And that professor… That professor was helping him…

And then he forced any trace of fragility away. The quivering ceased. The contours of his face became rigid, solid. The pale, sickly complexion was chased out by an ambitious flush. He straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Thank you, Zero-five," he said. Whether he was genuinely appreciative or not to the weak man for revealing this information to him, even he wasn't sure. He was too fixated on something of much larger importance at that moment. "You've provided me a new and much better strategy."

Despite such a stony regard, though, Zero-five could see something in the depth of that dark eye.

"It was my pleasure, sir," he said, regarding the Commander with satisfaction. A conflagration, that's what it was. He'd fanned the spark into a tremendous conflagration. Brilliant… "Well, I'd best be on my way. The police will begin looking for me otherwise."

With this, Zero-five turned round and walked on.

Those Powers, they were as good as his, he thought as he retreated from the light.

And as darkness swallowed him whole, he knew that madman, that bastard… He would soon be reduced to ash.


	2. Chapter 1

Darkness enveloped me. I could see nothing, feel nothing.

 _GGWWwgghh…_

But maybe it was better that way, I thought. I couldn't see nor feel, but I could certainly hear. And what assailed my ears was a stentorian grating that resonated all around, like two boulders scouring the floor I stood upon.

Suddenly a spotlight descended upon me from above, my hand thrusting forth to shield against an effulgent light more blinding than any darkness. Seconds later my sights adjusted and I inadvertently glanced to my left. I wish I hadn't. Only a few metres away stood what I could just barely make out to be a barrier of some sort in the shadows.

 _GGWWwgghh…_

And it was closing in. I had a feeling I knew what was happening but I glanced to the right anyway. There was another moving barrier. Just as I thought. I was trapped between them.

 _GGWWwgghh…_

My heart thumped in my throat, blood roaring in my ears as my mind reeled through potential solutions. Could I push them back? No, of course not. They were walls after all. Could I tunnel my way out? I tapped my foot on the floor. It was as solid as what I imagined those walls were made of. No tunnelling out of this… Could I go up? I glanced to the ceiling to see there wasn't one. Just empty space that seemed to taunt me into trying to escape. I couldn't, however, for the walls were too tall.

 _GGWWwgghh…_

And still taller they grew as they grated ever closer. I swallowed, a nearly uncontrollable urge to panic threatening to overwhelm my composure. Launch yourself at the walls… Pound your fists against the floor… Scratch every surface until your fingers bleed! _Anything!_ So I forced myself to shut my eyelids and think calmly, rationally. I couldn't go down or up, left or right, but… My eyes opened as a solution came to me. Perhaps I could go around… Perhaps there was a switch here, a mechanism of some sort that would allow me to put a stop to my untimely passing. I looked about the floor, along the edges of the walls. No switch or lever here… The other side? I turned round to search.

But that's when I saw it. Towering overhead as if looking down upon me was the face of a massive pocket watch. Its minute and second hands were spinning out of control while the hour hand approached 8am—the deadline. _My_ deadline.

 _GGWWwgghh…_

The walls heaved nearer, my eardrums ringing with their shrieks. They were just feet from crushing me now. As the light above began to shine upon them, I couldn't help glancing to them again, like staring at a fatal wound spurting blood, uselessly willing it to stop as I waited for an answer in any form to come to me.

It seemed, to my surprise, I didn't have to wait long. While staring at the walls, certain of my demise, I came to realise they were made of not concrete or brick, but paper. Stacks and stacks of paper. All of them I had yet to research for, yet to finish writing.

That was it…

I clenched my teeth tight in determination, turning back around and running for my next interview. Surely this was the answer… If I could finish my work, the walls would stop!

But the faster I ran, I dreaded to find, the further I got from my destination and the closer I came to the pocket watch.

 _GGWWwgghh… GGWWwgghh…_

And still the stacks of my unfinished assignments moved in until their cold surfaces pinned my arms to my sides, jerking me to a jarring stop in place. I turned my head, the sharp edges just barely grazing the tip of my nose, and looked over my shoulder with wide, wild eyes. The pocket watch's hour hand lined up with the four. There wasn't much time… I glanced to the eight, determining the seconds until I was killed, but found there was now a small piece of paper stuck over top, obscuring the number. A circle or symbol of some sort was drawn on it…

I grunted as the walls moved, squeezing the breath out of me. I only had a few seconds… I tried to wrench my body sideways, first to the right.

The hour hand advanced to 5am.

When this didn't work, I tried twisting to the left.

 _Six…_

But it was no use. I was hopelessly stuck.

 _Seven…_

I was out of time. I clasped my eyes shut.

 _I'm coming, Mum…Dad…Constance! Please, keep Justine safe…_

And what was left of the air in my lungs I used in a scream for my life.

 _Eight._

 _CRUNCHSHH!_

Suddenly, my eyelids popped open, my whole body lurching at the sound of the sickening splatter. I cast my panic-stricken gaze about the room I now found myself in, my chest heaving. Was I still alive? It seemed so…but how? I had been crushed… I dared to straighten, afraid this might be another trial of some sort. One that might involve decapitation if I sat up too fast. As I did, I looked round the room once more, this time registering what met my sights. I spotted plain white walls. One to the right of me hosted a window where not a single ray of sunlight shown through. Beside the window were a wooden bed stand hosting a lone lamp, currently on, and a bed which was completely made, free of any crease or sign it had been slept in. I glanced down in front of me and saw a desk that was populated with framed photographs obscured by piles of papers… I blinked. This was rather familiar… I looked near the floor. There was a chair and I was sat upon it. That's when it came to me. I had fallen asleep at my desk…

At this realisation, my senses began to return. I could feel my glasses perched precariously askew on the tip of my nose, one lens over my left eye while the other was clear over my forehead. There was a stabbing crick in my neck that started off painful as a needle prick and gradually grew into a full-blown wooden stake. My whole body—muscles, bones, everything—felt as if it'd been pressed flat. I suppose it had been in a way… I adjusted my glasses while leaning my full weight into the back of my chair, giving myself a much needed drawn-out shoulder rub. What a wakeup call…

 _BZZZZ… BZZZZ… BZZZZZZZ…_

Pausing mid-massage, I looked to my bed stand where I expected to see my mobile, but it wasn't there. At some point it had fallen on the floor and was now quivering along the carpet with each vibration.

 _Talking of wakeup call…_

Standing slowly from my desk chair, letting every bone pop with each movement, I made my way over and stooped to retrieve the mobile.

"Hello, Clive Dove speaking," I answered, stifling a yawn while rising to my feet. I had a sneaking suspicion I already knew who was on the other end.

"Good morning, Clive!" sang a cheery voice.

 _Right on the money…_ "Good morning, Mary," I greeted with a tired smile. Well, there was no getting back to sleep now… I headed out the door for the kitchen.

"Did I wake you?" she asked, not out of concern. More…humour at hearing the grogginess in my voice. She did this nearly every morning, after all, and it apparently never grew old…

"Not this time. Your loads of assignments beat you to the chase…" I replied with good-natured petulance then added, "As my editor, I expected better of you…"

"Are you in need of more assignments, Mr Dove…?"

"N-No, ma'am…"

"Well, it's too late!" Mary sang once more, cackling. "I have another assignment for you this morning!" I imagined her head thrown back, her hazel, nearly amber eyes coruscating with energy, her long, wavy locks of flaxen hair swirling as she spun in her desk chair. I stopped before the kettle, sighing. It was calls this early with this much liveliness that made me question the woman's sanity. "Talking of," she continued, quite a bit more composed, "where were you? I rang!"

That solved a few mysteries already… Due to Mary's earlier call my phone had begun to vibrate against my bed stand causing it to fall to the floor. And that vibrating must have manifested into the grinding those walls were making in my nightmare…

"Ah, so you _are_ the culprit after all…" I accused as I put the kettle on.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, nothing…" Let's just say you nearly got me killed… "Anyway," I folded my free arm over my chest and leaned against the counter as the kettle began to simmer, "It's five in the morning. What sort of news is happening at this hour?"

"You're an experienced journalist. You should know any news can happen at this hour."

"True, but I was talking more news that justifies me being awoken at five in the morning…"

"Well," she said, lingering on the word, "this is fairly important." I noted the solemnity that suddenly cleared every trace of delight from her voice. "It's a murder case."

My light-hearted demeanour also disappeared, replaced by a more grave melancholy. "So early, eh?"

"Crime doesn't have a specific time," she said in a tone suggesting she was apologetically shrugging.

"Yes," I answered, my eyes finding the floor, "unfortunately so." I decided to change the focus of the conversation to something more technical. "So what of the details?"

"From what I've heard, the crime took place on Trent Road and the house number this time is 2300. The neighbours heard a load of racket this morning and decided to phone the police. That's when the corpse of a little girl was found."

"Cause of death?"

"I can't say for sure as they've only just sent the body in for an autopsy, but the CSIs couldn't seem to find any external injuries…"

My brow furrowed. The kettle was boiling madly now.

Mary continued. "Seems connected to the case we looked into at 2295…"

The kettle clicked off.

"That's what I was thinking," I said. I cocked my head to hold the mobile between ear and shoulder as I poured a cup of Earl Grey, my thoughts shifting to the murder that had transpired only last week. Just like this morning, I had been awoken by the sound of my cell phone ringing and Mary's usually cheery voice taut with a gravity only bad news could instil in her.

" _There's been a murder,_ " she'd said. " _Very close to here. I think it'd be best if you covered it, Clive_."

With that, I'd left for 2295, somehow both unsure of what to expect and also familiar with the scene I encountered when I arrived. Its parameter was cordoned off with yellow police tape. CSIs were split up into several different groups inspecting several different angles to the crime—at a white-taped outline where a body once lie, near luminol-sprayed ground in search of blood, some scattered about searching for a murder weapon. In the end, they had been unsuccessful in uncovering any clues or detaining a suspect, red flags that had stayed firmly planted in the back of my mind since.

As I returned from these thoughts, my expression hardened. Ever since…London's destruction nearly forty years ago now, it had been fairly free of any murders. But these two that had just cropped up…

"Thanks for the information," I told Mary. "I'll be down there to investigate in a moment."

"Investigate?" she laughed. I knew she was smirking. "Don't you mean take notes for an article?"

My hard expression softened to a withering look. "Investigate sounds better." And maybe I feel more accomplished pretending I'm a crime-solving detective instead of a pencil-pushing reporter…

"Perhaps I should start calling you Inspector Dove now?"

"That's Commissioner Dove to you."

After ending the call on this less morose note, I settled down at the table with a mug of Earl Grey and saucer, delving back into the topic of these murders. Last week's at 2295 and the one I would examine today at 2300 stuck out to me not only because they were the first two murders I'd investigate in quite some time, but for several other reasons as well. In both cases, the victims had suffered no external injuries, and the autopsy report on the victim from 2295 had shown no internal injuries or really any signs of what could have been the cause of death. I had an ominous inkling when the autopsy report came back for today's victim, we'd see the same result.

"…orning, Dad…"

And both times the neighbours had complained of noise in the morning, yet the murder, at least for last week's, had taken place sometime in the night. This, I'd learnt from Inspector Brown, the DCI on this case, was due to the culprit having moved the body. Would this appear in the autopsy report for today as well?

Also… I slipped my hand into the pocket of my trousers I had slept in, my fingers brushing a small piece of paper. I was reminded of my nightmare. This little scrap had appeared on the eight of that massive pocket watch. I suppose it was on my mind because it had also been found in reality…on the body at 2295.

"Dad…"

I, as well as many other reporters and even the police, had considered it nothing but a scrap of paper. Even so I had sketched a copy for myself. I'm glad I did. I had a feeling I'd find another piece with a similar symbol when I investigated today. And if I did, I thought as I brought a curled pointer to my lips, could we be dealing with the same murderer? A serial killer? Where would he strike next? I clenched the piece of paper. How close was he…?

Pain suddenly exploded in my forehead like a bullet piercing my skull and I recoiled as I shot my gaze up at my attacker. What met my eyes, however, was not a gunman or a murderer at all. It was my daughter, Justine. She was leaning in with her pointer poised near my forehead, her thin, dark eyes dancing with amusement, her lopsided smile suggesting she was barely able to hold in her laughter.

"You all right, Dad…?" she asked as she sat down across from me, towelling off her black hair after a very early morning shower.

I rubbed my forehead, chuckling sheepishly at myself as I settled back down in my chair.

"A bit too preoccupied with my thoughts, I suppose…"

She smiled mischievously.

"Maybe you should be preoccupied with sleep. Those are some dark rings under your eyes."

I picked up my tea. "Nothing a cup of Earl Grey can't fix." And with that I took a sip. It was delicious as always, the steaming liquid that slipped down my throat, warming me from the inside-out. It was called 'the cup that cheers' for a reason.

"Can a cup of Earl Grey fix that major bedhead you styled in your sleep?" Justine quipped.

I ran a hand through my hair. Even without looking at it, I could tell it needed a bit of work.

"I'll have you know," I began as I crossed my arms and gave her a self-satisfied look, "it can't possibly be bedhead because I didn't sleep in my bed."

Her concerned look returned. "Where did you sleep then? The roof?!"

"My desk."

"Again?"

"Again…"

"Maybe you should go to bed when you're supposed to?"

"You're one to talk…" I shot her a pointed look overtop the rim of my glasses as I took another sip of tea. After replacing the cup on its saucer I said, "You're up at all hours! Last night I heard you sneaking round the kitchen at two. And it's five now, yet here you are. What's occupying your morning this time? Reading? Writing? A science experiment?"

"A little bit of all of the above," she said as she took a book out from the backpack she must have set down while I was pondering the murders. ' _Physics of the Future:_ _'_ I read the title, _'How science will shape human destiny and our daily lives by the year 2100._ ' Another one about quantum physics... When she had been younger she would request nothing but science books. For her birthday, Christmas, whenever we popped into a bookstore (which seemed more often every year). But quantum physics was a bit of a new subject for her, something she'd picked up within the last few months. I'd never seen her more interested in a topic of science. She seemed to devour these books like they were salmon burgers—her favourite meal. Last week it was ' _Hyperspace: scientific odyssey through parallel universes, time warps, and the 10th dimension._ ' Next week I imagined she'd be reading something about how we actually have hundreds of dimensions and she'd been placed in the wrong one…

"I'm taking notes on Michio Kaku's latest and, by far, greatest book yet," Justine answered. I could practically feel the warm fuzzies fluttering in her stomach as she presented the book like it was a holy relic. "I already did half of it last night. I'll be finishing it this morning before I leave for the factory."

"That's really not normal for someone your age, reading those books not only for leisure but also when you're meant to be asleep." I said this facetiously but there may have been a hint of fatherly pride in my voice. "And after that, it's definitely not normal for someone your age to be awake at five in the morning."

"And it's not normal for someone your age to be awake at all," she countered. "You're so old you're meant to be sleeping forever…in a grave." She snickered.

Her interest in quantum physics might have been a new development but her poking fun at my age was not.

"I liked it better when you were quiet…" I quipped then quickly added with a soft chuckle, "but of course I'm joking." I was reminded not for the first time how a much younger Justine would barely speak to me let alone be comfortable enough to poke fun. Now that it was nearing the tenth anniversary of my adopting her I was noticing more and more how talkative and lively she was becoming. Of course I'd much rather hear joking than the silence of a once scared and confused orphan…

"What was that, old man?"

I gulped down the rest of my tea then stood from my seat, pretending not to have heard her. "Well I suppose I'd best get ready…"

Upon entering the bathroom, I placed myself before the mirror and ran a hand through my hair again. Grey strands seemed to pop up more and more amongst the brown. I may have been denying it, but I felt as if they weren't necessarily indicative of my age. Dad had greyed rather early after all, so why wouldn't I…? Well, in any case, I supposed, it still proved how much time had passed…

In five minutes' time I had showered, shaved and was dressed in a clean white button-up accompanied by a blue silken tie, olive-green vest and a pair of charcoal-black trousers. I would have put on my blazer if I was conducting a one-on-one interview, but since I'd only be asking around for initial information I left it for now and headed back to the kitchen.

Justine was still sat where I'd left her, patiently waiting to leave for her Sunday internship. The manner in which she was reading so intently took me back to the first time she'd started the internship. One of the first indicators I could recall of Justine coming out of her shell was her expressing an interest in hands-on work. I had always noticed this interest as she would tinker around with various devices (such as taking apart the remote and attempting, not so successfully, to put it back together) and this hobby only became more destructive than productive as she grew older. That was when I conceded I needed help from Cogg, an old mate of mine. His specialty was woodworking and I knew I could trust him to hone my daughter's detrimental pastime into a useful skill. After agreeing to this proposal I'd offered her, she sat reading into the next morning, too excited (though she certainly didn't show it then) to sleep. Even on the way there she'd read in the car.

" _Cogg,_ " I recalled a snippet of the conversation when we'd arrived. It had been a while since I'd last spoken to him myself and I could remember blinking in surprise when he had answered the door. " _It's good to see you again, mate. You seem to be doing well for your age!_ " When I'd arrived at the old mansion, which Cogg was in the process of transforming into a rather large factory, I'd expected to be greeted by an elderly man, hunched over, leaning on a cane for support. He was in his late eighties after all. But instead I was met with the same gruff, burly bloke I'd grown up with, his sleeves rolled up, his muscular arms, chiselled face, once-white apron and trousers-everything-covered in grease and smoke, as always. The only effect time had seemed able to impose upon him was in his rather remarkable beard, now completely white.

" _Can't complain, young sir_ ," Cogg answered.

I chuckled. " _You can't really call me by that title anymore, can you?_ "

" _Well,_ " a wide smile drew across his face, wrinkles creasing from the corners of his mouth and eyes, " _you're still much younger than me, you are!_ "

" _I know our last meeting was quite some time ago and…quite a bit more stressful,_ " I started.

But before I could continue, Cogg held up a hand.

" _The past is the past, young sir. Please, let's forget it and visit like we used to._ " Again, a broad grin cracked across his wrinkled face and I knew he was serious about his proposal.

Relieved, I returned his grin with an appreciative smile. " _Right. Thank you, Cogg. It means a lot._ " Eager to take him up on the proposal, my demeanour shifted to one of excitement. " _I have someone you should meet._ " I held a hand out to my daughter. " _Justine, say—_ " I had expected to see her at my side, but as I looked down I noticed she was hiding behind my legs.

Justine had been scared of Cogg and I had completely understood why. His outgoing and confident comportment, his build, that enormous beard—like some defence mechanism an animal used to scare off even bigger prey… He had always looked so imposing to me as well. But I knew Justine had nothing to worry about. The man was much like a teddy bear. Though tough-looking on the outside, his rough cockney accent and, at times, foul language not helping much, he was, on the inside, caring for those he was loyal to. After only a few days of working in the factory-turned-mansion, Justine had become comfortable enough to start referring to Cogg as 'Uncle' and from that point forward, she'd continued working there. Just this year she'd started her real internship, shadowing a lab tech from the quality control department for more experience in a laboratory position.

I couldn't help the misty sheen welling in my eyes as the memory of my once little daughter reading so intently returned to the young woman she had become. We'd grown so close over the years. I had to admit I still felt a bit of a chasm between us, like we couldn't fully trust each other because we weren't blood. But perhaps it was something less worrying than that. After all, Justine was about to graduate secondary school and progress onto university where she'd become even more independent than she already was…

In an effort to clear my head of these thoughts, I glanced to the book in her hands. It was yet another physics book. ' _Higgs: The invention and discovery of the 'God Particle,_ '' I read as I walked for the door, straightening my tie.

"You're so very intelligent to understand book after book of quantum physics," I said in wonder to myself as I slipped on my black Oxfords. Justine lifted her eyes and when I saw she'd heard I teasingly thrust my pointed nose in the air. "Clearly you take after your father."

Justine laughed. "That's a pretty clear indicator I'm adopted, then."

"Alright…" I drawled. "Don't you go getting cheeky now. I can't have you lightening the mood when I'm off to such a serious scene."

"What is it this time?"

"Murder," I answered bluntly. "Just the subject I like waking up to…"

I watched as Justine's brow furrowed minutely, her smile now replaced with a small frown. It was a look I didn't see often, one that reminded me all too well of how quiet she could really be. She hid her more negative emotions and because of this the expression was so quickly gone from her face I barely had time to note it, but I knew what I said had upset her, made her angry. She detested crime, as did I. She was definitely appropriately named.

"I'll have another interview this morning, so I won't be home until after you're done at the mansion," I said. I attempted to lighten the mood. "Take care of the house while I'm gone, and please make sure not to blow anything up while you're researching…"

She seemed to relax. Good.

"If I blow something up," she called, "I'll just rebuild it with Uncle Cogg before you get back!"

I gave her a teasing warning look then headed out.

I made my way down the streets of London, the streetlamps and multitudes of signs winking out as the sun began to rise, and kept watch for 2300 Trent Road where the crime scene awaited me. When I approached the cordoned yellow tape minutes later, I flashed my press pass to a CSI before stepping underneath. A few other CSIs were scattered about, some dusting for prints, some spraying luminol near a taped outline of a child's body which was half hidden by the house's screen door. I didn't wish to bother them right away. Instead, like last week's murder, I walked about the parameter, careful where I stepped so as not to contaminate the scene and its evidence, and proceeded to record the address, the body's outline, the state of the house, basic details to begin my future article.

Based on the previous murder and the many others I'd witnessed quite a while ago when I was a much younger journalist, this looked fairly standard. But even if it had been more gruesome I was hardened to it by now. I knew what tragedy was and the many forms it could take, from a murder as clean as this to something…a bit more full scale. Even so, this didn't stop my more human side from feeling pity for the victim's loved ones, whoever they may be. A mother, a father, an adopted family… They must have been wondering how such a young life was stolen from them for seemingly no reason and why the answer to coping was to move on and hope it didn't happen again. No one could turn back time and stop the event, after all. They must be suffering…

But as I circled the entire area, I soon realised there didn't seem to be any relatives here. No one speaking with the officers, no one grieving. That was odd…or perhaps not… Now that I thought on it, last week I'd not spotted a single person mourning the victim either… I flipped back a few pages in my notepad, reading over a note I'd made last week about missing relatives. Yes, it was true… A myriad of questions that I instantly craved the answers to filled my mind—was their family also killed? Missing? Held hostage?—but I knew I couldn't ponder on them. Though this was a connection to the 2295 murder, at this point I could only speculate uselessly until I had more evidence to come to a logical conclusion. The least I could do was speak with the police and see if I could glean any new information from them.

This in mind, I finished my initial notes and walked up to the group of CSIs. In the centre of their circle was a man dressed in a DCI uniform: black suit and tie, an officer's hat with a chequered pattern round the crown and three diamond pips on his epaulettes. DCI Kurt Brown, if I remembered correctly. I'd only heard his name last time as he'd been too busy for me to meet him and properly introduce myself. Even so I knew enough about him from what other newspapers had been saying. He was a young Interpol agent from the United States who was sent out to investigate many crimes from around the world. A very blunt, no-nonsense detective. I liked the sound of it.

"Good morning, Mr Dove," the Inspector said upon seeing me. I blinked. He knew my name? I glanced down at a large pocket in his suit jacket, noticing a newspaper featuring _London Now,_ my agency's name. So he must enjoy my articles… I couldn't help feeling a bit flattered. He stepped up and shook my hand. "Detective Inspector Brown. Got some information you reporters might want to jot down." Those newspapers had been right. He may have been young but he was wise beyond his years. I already liked him, especially his straightforward approach. Right down to business. "We first arrived here after we received a call from the couple in that house there," he nodded to the neighbour's house. I quickly noted this as I'd be visiting them next. "While searching around, we found the body of a young girl, about eight years old, lying face-down in the doorway. Sent her in for autopsy and just now received the report."

I blinked again. "Already?" Though I'd re-entered journalism a few years ago already, I'd never heard of an autopsy taking so little time. And when I was a journalist before it certainly took longer. Much longer.

"You're questioning the timing of the autopsy. We've just installed a Virtual Autopsy table. Something Switzerland had been working on for quite a while. We decided to give it a try." He glanced to me and added, "It may be a new-fangled device, but it's quite accurate."

I had been attempting to hide the disdain that had crept onto my features but he must have noticed. It wasn't that I was against technology, but…

"Still not convinced, Mr Dove?" Detective Brown remarked. I realised then my features had tightened even more and relaxed them a bit. My, he was observant. But then again, that's what made a good inspector. I couldn't help but respect him even more.

"I suppose," I began slowly, returning to the topic of this Virtual Autopsy table, "I'm just worried about the accuracy of crime solving. Has this device been tested enough to really be useful in forensics?"

He gave me a look.

"Shouldn't the crime solving be left up to the crime solvers?"

I clenched my teeth. This comment rubbed me the wrong way… But then I let up when I searched his face and saw his expression of genuine question. He wasn't being condescending. He was merely asking. I was reminded not for the first time how I was only a reporter. Not a detective. Not even a CSI. A reporter. A middleman between the real crime solvers and the general public. Though, I had to admit it was a bit unfair to be seen as a mere messenger when my passion involved crime solving and mysteries as well…

"In any case," Detective Brown continued, drawing my attention back, "I assure you, the Virtual Autopsy table was tested for years before its implementation into forensics. It's efficient, effective and, per your original unspoken inquiry, fast, hence the reason we have the autopsy report at this time instead of days, even weeks later."

Well, as long as it helps deliver justice... I silently complied.

"Recall how the victim last week at 2295 didn't have any external or internal injuries." the Detective returned to reporting on the crime. I nodded, feeling I knew what he was about to say as I poised pen over notepad. "Our victim here is the exact same. No external or internal injuries. And the medical examiner found no sign of what could have possibly killed her, same as 2295's victim. It's certainly a puzzle." He shook his head. "Also, the killer left this behind."

I finished what I was writing and looked up to see the Inspector pull from his trench coat a small plastic bag with a piece of paper inside, holding it up to me. I eyed it, noting the ripped edges, like it had been hastily torn out from a larger sheet, the circle scrawled on it outlined in white ink, the symbol that appeared to be an hourglass within the circle. Just as I thought. Again, my nightmare returned to me of the little scrap placed over the eight on the pocket watch. I slipped my hand into my trouser pocket and pulled out the piece I had crumpled up when Justine startled me, holding it up next to the one Inspector Brown had. A grave expression stole over my features. The two were identical.

"You catch on quick," Inspector Brown continued as he returned the other scrap to his pocket. "We dusted the scrap for prints, like last time, but we haven't uncovered anything yet. We'll stay hesitant to label this a direct connection to the case last week as it's still far too early to know, but if you ask me, this seems fairly cut-and-dry."

I nodded. "I agree, Inspector. I hope we…er, _you_ can piece this together quickly." And, I added silently, perhaps with how eager I am for answers, I myself just might impersonate a private I…

Now that my earlier suspicions had been confirmed, my mind filed through even more questions. I still didn't pay these thoughts any heed, as, again, it was just mere speculation, however, I couldn't stop the feeling of anxiety that made my insides squirm. Certainly we were dealing with something sinister as two lives had been taken by likely the same person. But just _how_ sinister was the question…

Talking of questions, I thought as I recalled what had drawn me over here in the first place. "By the way," I asked Inspector Brown, "do you know of any relatives that had been with the girl? Or a guardian of some sort? Surely she lived with someone?"

"We're not sure of that yet," Inspector Brown replied, my curiosity feeding on his words, insatiable, as I rapidly penned this down. "But we do suspect this victim, like the one at 2295, was moved from the original crime scene to this house to throw us off."

I noted this as well. It wasn't much, but at least it was another piece of the puzzle that would eventually connect to the truth.

I finished up my time at the scene by speaking with the neighbours who were both very willing to give me their side of the story. They mentioned the noise they'd heard, which had sounded like a lot of bashing and thumping, like something stomping up and down the stairs. I noted this may have been the noise made by the culprit when moving the body. This noise awoke them at four in the morning and they'd decided to check on what they had previously known to be a vacant house to make sure nothing had happened. That's when they found the body and phoned the police.

"Thanks for your time," I told the couple, handing them a business card. "Don't hesitate to contact me if you remember any more information you'd like to discuss."

As the couple shut the door, I stepped back, jotting down the last of my thoughts until suddenly something bumped my elbow causing my pen to scrawl an ugly scar across my notes. I looked over my shoulder to see what had happened…and wished I had ignored it. What met my surprised gaze was a man with swept-back hair, gold and silver like the pound coins that, alongside the many, many banknotes, lined his fat wallet. His all too familiar cocky grin accentuated the cold, piercing condescension in his ice-blue eyes, and his hands were stowed in his steel-grey suit pockets, his posture leaned back, vaunting, looking as though he owned the place. Richard… He was a journalist as well, one whom, I hate to admit, was quite the formidable rival. I might even consider him an arch-nemesis, but I'd rather not give him any other reasons to inflate that already oversized ego of his…

" _Dove_ ," he greeted derisively. As ever, it was too much trouble to address me by my full name or add a bit of inflection to his voice…

"Good morning, Richard," I greeted _properly_. I brought a hand up to my tie, my thumb and pointer fiddling with the knot. It helped to imagine it as his and that my grip was just tight enough to make breathing difficult.

"What's an _inferior_ reporter such as yourself doing _here_?" Richard continued. "Don't you know people will want to _read_ about this murder? Therefore, this is _my_ turf."

His drawling, pompous tone was starting to get to me but I ignored it and cocked my head while folding my arms over my chest.

"Ah, so you're the murderer in this case, are you? Well I can't thank you enough for confessing. That gives me a much shorter article to write." His sneer wavered and I couldn't help the spark of triumph that burst like a firecracker in my chest. "Shall I call the police over now or let you turn yourself in?"

"Listen here, _Dove_ ," he jabbed a finger at me, "we both know _The Daily_ is _far_ more popular than _London Now_ , so don't go gettin' _cheeky_ like this case will earn your rundown, bought-out, _shadow_ of an agency any points…"

I shrugged. "At least _I_ write objectively." A patronising chuckle escaped me. "And _my_ newspaper isn't a tabloid that gains tin-foil hat-wearing readers who wish to learn about the next alien invasion." I cocked my head to the other side, giving him my shrewdest smile. "I can already see the title for your article on this murder case. 'Extra-terrestrials abduct little girl, copy her organs and mysteriously kill her as warning of future invasion'…"

Richard only countered my smirk with one of his own. "We'll see who's _laughing_ when I finish my article and _your_ paper dries up from lack of subscribers. _The Daily_ will become even _more_ popular and _London Now_ will be known as _London Never_!" And with that, he strut off to the police, cackling away like the arch-nemesis he was.

 _Yes, that's what you always say!_ I wanted to yell at him. Instead, I turned back to my notepad and hastily crossed out my previous notes, the ones Richard had caused me to scrawl over, and began to take new, _objective_ notes on the case.

It was true, my agency, _London Now_ , wasn't as well-known as his. Even so, I was working hard to write not only factually, but also creatively so as to gain more readers. All it would take was one brilliant subject to pop up…and perhaps these murders were just what I needed…

I blinked. What was I thinking?! A murder wasn't meant to be used as a way to achieve more readers! That was something Richard would think to do. Not me!

Suddenly, a squelching growl emanated from my protesting stomach, breaking through my internal struggle. I glanced to my watch. It was half-six and I'd not yet eaten a proper breakfast. I'd leave my squabbling over Richard and his antics for another time. For now, I needed to prepare for my eleven o'clock interview, and that included eating.

I traced the route I had taken onto Trent Road back, the streets more populated as the sun rose higher above the horizon, ushering in the more normal awakening hours, and only minutes later I returned home through the entrance door that led into the kitchen. As I slipped off my Oxfords, I saw Justine had already left and there was a pan of rice mixed with veg and meat on the stovetop. A note sat on the counter next to it. 'Here's a meal I didn't blow up. Help yourself, Dad' I read, smiling to myself. At the end she'd drawn some sort of Japanese or Chinese character that resembled a smiling face. What was it she called that? Emoshi? Emoji? She'd told me so many times but I couldn't seem to remember anything that had to do with technology. Even my mobile was now obsolete compared to the newest Strawberrys and Cyborgs or whatever they were labelled these days… I suppose it was no wonder I was bias against that Virtual Autopsy table…

I didn't spend long at home. After I had eaten a plateful of the rice and egg Justine had left, some hash browns I'd cooked myself, a bowl of cereal, downed another cup (or two) of Earl Grey, and finished up a few rough drafts of those nightmare-inducing articles, I slipped on my blazer and left for my interview.

I was eager to arrive early as Mr Tysan, the man I was conducting it with, had a very interesting archaeological scoop for my paper. And perhaps if I got there early enough a certain someone might be at work… This certain someone, a boy named Fayne, I disliked even more than Richard and his snarky smile. He was a womanising teenage _punk_ …and…he fancied Justine… I felt ill just thinking about it… As I approached the Tysan house and stepped up to the door I imaged it to be Fayne's face and knocked extra hard. Justine didn't know how much I detested Fayne and I'd rather keep it that way. Then I could continue to spy on them without either of them knowing, make certain they weren't up to anything…suspicious…

Upon hearing approaching footsteps, I looked up to see a tall silhouette in the door's crystal frame. My nose wrinkled in disgust. Bloody…! I was sure he worked at eight on Sundays! Moments later, the door opened to reveal Fayne. Had he become more muscular since last I saw him? Just another reason to detest him. I'm sure he used that physique to his advantage with many young women… I wouldn't let Justine be one of them…

"Ayup, Miste' Dove," Fayne greeted with a grin that was always too cheery for my liking. Here it comes… "'ow's Justine been?"

And there it is…

"Morning, Fayne," I replied shortly. "She's fine. Is your father—"

"Ee, brillian'!" Fayne interrupted. My brow creased in irritation. As the boy continued on I could feel my frown deepening. "She's no' been on-line today… Wou'd yea tell 'er Ah say 'hi'?"

"Certainly. Now, then—"

"An' cou'd yea ask 'er t' come ove' sumtime today?"

My jaw clenched.

"I'll see what I can do…" I said through my teeth. "Now would you please—"

"Ah'll jus' tex' 'er an'—Oh, wai'! Ah forgo'! She alrea'y invi'ed me ove' there!"

"She…did…" I responded slowly, my mind digesting this information much like my stomach would a greasy burger.

"Yeah, innit tha' grea'! Anyway, Ah'll go grab me mam. See ya round, Miste' Dove!"

And with that he shut the door. I stood there for a moment, trying to understand why exactly I'd bought Justine a cell phone capable of making any call other than ones designated for emergencies and then devising a plan on how I could put a stop to Fayne's visiting my house when a voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Miste' Dove." I looked to see Fayne's mother at the door now. I'd only glimpsed her a few times a while ago when I would walk Justine over to the Tysan house, before Fayne had hit that rather dangerous age, but I could tell she seemed much thinner than before. Almost unhealthily so… "Please come in."

I had expected to see Mr Tysan, but the greeting was so stony and filled with conviction I was at a loss for words, so I gave her a curt nod before following her in. If only Fayne could be as level-headed as his mother… As we entered the dining room she held her hand out towards a chair at the table.

"Please, si'down. I'll make us a brew before we begin. Do yea 'ave a preference?"

Though I'd just downed a cup before I'd left, I decided to take the offer. I'd need it in order to gain back the energy Fayne had just sapped from me. "Earl Grey, if you would, please."

I seated myself as Mrs Tysan left and looked around while waiting. Though I'd been in the house many times before, I'd not taken the time to really appreciate their décor since I was quite the minimalist when it came to my own home. The walls were painted a sandy brown and everywhere I looked there seemed to be some artefact or another poised on the wall or set out on a small table. It gave the home an ancient though cosy feel. There were also some rolled up maps and other artefacts in various boxes near the door. If I hadn't known Fayne for seven years (unfortunately) I'd assume the family had just moved in. Perhaps they were only transporting some excess items to the garage or another area as the house was definitely well-covered with the stuff.

Mrs Tysan soon returned with a cup of Earl Grey.

"Thank you," I said. As I took the cup I noticed she was seating herself before me. I gave her a confused look. "Isn't your husband…"

"'E's no' in at the moment," she answered, "and I though', sin' yea needed sum insigh' inte' archaeology, yea cou'd 'ave me opinion fer now while 'e's awt."

"You're an archaeologist as well?" I questioned, cocking my head slightly to the side. This was news to me.

She looked away and I could see a nervous flush on her cheeks. I blinked in wonder, curious as to why this emotion had arisen.

"Yes… Sorreh I've neve' told yea. Yea jus' always seem rathe' busy…"

Though this did ruin my original plan, I dismissed her apology with a wave of my hand. "It's not a problem. I can interview Mr Tysan at a different time. Besides, it would be nice to get some news from you and what you do to add to my article."

As I glanced to her, her cheeks flushed again. Did she wish to speak with me on archaeological matters, or something else…? I wondered. In any case, I was eager to hear what she had to say so I began with the interview, pen and notepad at the ready.

"First, a bit about what you do, please, Mrs Tysan."

She hesitated, then met my eyes. "Probably mos' people imagine all we archaeologists eve' do is dig, bu'…we spen' a lo'a time in our labs researchin' wha' we've found anall."

This I already knew. At one time I myself had met a very special archaeologist, one who was famous all across London and much of the world, in fact.

"I'm sure you've heard of Hershel Layton?" I decided to enquire. This wasn't part of my article, but I couldn't help asking. After all, I'd not seen the man in several years.

"'ershel… Oh, yea mean th' Professe'. Yes, 'e's taugh' us much ove' th' years, both in the university and awtside of it. I wen' on a dig wi' 'im recently."

"Did you?" I said, poising my notepad to begin writing again. "What was it you uncovered?"

"A very special ar'efact," she said.

This piqued my interest. "Mind if I have a look at it?"

I noticed she seemed hesitant, her eyes finding the floor, her brow creasing as if someone was disappointed with her, but she stood up, retrieved something out of one of the boxes near the door and held it out to me. It was a scroll of some sort, blanketed with dust, yellowed with age, and I felt the mystery of the thing grip my attention instantly like sweets to a child. After a few moments, I managed to tear my eyes away and continued on with my interview.

"So you mentioned this is special to you. Any particular reason why?"

"This is th' scroll tha' led to wha' we uncovered."

My brow furrowed. Hadn't she said this scroll _was_ what she had uncovered? "So you didn't find this scroll on a dig?"

"Nay. This scroll 'e… _I_ used to theorise wha' wou'd be uncovered."

I was a bit confused. Mrs Tysan didn't seem able to keep her story straight…

"Oh… Miste' Dove?" I turned my attention to her and when I met her eyes, she gave me an apologetic look. "I forgo'… I 'ave summat I need to attend to. I'm sorry to cu' th' in'ehview shor', bu' if it'll make it up to yea, 'e…I mean _I_ 'ave a few more documents in me office on wha' I've discovered. If yea don' mind, I'll jus' be a moment."

Before I could say anything, she was off. What a bizarre interview this had turned into… Well, in any case at least I still had time before this article would need to be written. I'd just make sure to get hold of Mr Tysan and conduct the interview I was meant to. Maybe these documents Mrs Tysan had would help me make a bit more sense of what she'd been saying.

While waiting, I picked up the cup she had offered and took a few generous gulps of Earl Grey, eying the scroll in my hands. Again I was spellbound. I heard a door swing open and shut, but didn't really register it as I set my cup on the saucer and began to unfurl the ancient artefact. Jumbled letters and numbers mixed together were revealed to me on the top-most portion of the scroll. I couldn't read them, but even so, my eyes scanned every inch of the thing.

That was until I looked a bit further down and something caught my attention. Seven circles were drawn in a cycle of sorts, each a different colour, like a rainbow, and each hosting a symbol inside. A set of scales, a ray of light, a book, a droplet of what appeared to be blood…an hourglass… I swallowed, suddenly anxious. If I wasn't mistake, these circles, especially the one with the hourglass I was currently eyeing, were very similar to those on the scraps of paper… And those had been placed on—

"These ar' sum'a th' things I've discovered."

My nerves jumped at the sound of Mrs Tysan re-entering the room, but I didn't allow this surprise to register on my features. I turned to see she was carrying a folder bulging with a mess of papers which she handed over to me, the weight of it nearly dropping me to the floor.

"Thank you, Mrs Tysan," I said, allowing a smile to touch my lips as I hefted the folder onto both hands. My thoughts, however, were reeling. If what was on this scroll really matched those scraps of paper, Mrs Tysan could have been in on the murders… Of course, I didn't feel strongly about this speculation, but I still considered it a possibility. I had been through enough to know one moment of doubt was all it took before the tables were turned. "Quite the amount of discoveries you've made!" I commented. I would end this interview as discreetly as possible then be on my way. Thank goodness she was in a hurry to get on with her own schedule or I would have had to scheme up a way to leave without looking suspicious. And I'd like to consider my scheming days over…

"Yes…" I watched her expression closely as she responded. It seemed to relax, like she had done something right and an authority figure had praised her. "Many of th' ar'efacts are described in grea' detail in there. It's a bi' disorganised as I've been cleaning awt th' 'ouse," I noticed her face harden again, her brow creasing, her lips pursing, at this statement, "bu' yer free t' take it wit' an' look it ove' fer as long as yea need it. Me 'usband shall be in sumtime this week. I'll le' 'im know yea wish t' speak wit' 'im."

"Thank you for your time, Mrs Tysan," I said as I turned towards the door. "I'll be looking forward to interviewing your husband."

I nodded while watching her face even closer. Last week I'd phoned their home number to set up the interview and Mrs Tysan had picked up. When I'd asked for Mr Tysan's mobile phone number, she'd sidestepped the request the same way she was doing now. Explaining to me she would inform him of my interview. Obviously that hadn't turned out so well this time… And I knew based on that worried expression—crinkled brow, deep frown, chewing the inside of her lip—that, once again, she would not be informing him… It was a good job I had only forgotten I really did have Mr Tysan's number and could phone him later, but even so, why would Mrs Tysan wish to prevent my contacting him…?

Again, her features hardened as I said this. So very curious…

With this, I took my leave. As I put a bit of distance between myself and the Tysan house, I glanced over my shoulder. These murders, the scraps of paper that seemed to coincide with that scroll… This mystery was growing. And with it, the feeling I was being watched. Who knew just inside the house I'd visited many times over the years there would be some ancient scroll that either foreshadowed the murders or was a catalyst to them… For now I'd return home and continue to work as usual. But this case would not be far from my mind.


	3. Chapter 2

I was drawing closer to my home, closer to safety, and farther away from where I'd just held a rather worrying interview. Still, my paranoia hadn't diminished since departing. I allowed a bit of unease to cross my features as I looked to the crammed folder in my hands. Within it was filed information on many artefacts, one of which was a very interesting scroll. Alongside the thought of this scroll I recalled two scraps of paper. These three items were connected by a single, yet strong thread: what had been depicted on them. The circle, the white outline, the symbol of an hourglass. Not only had I seen such an insignia scrawled on those two scraps left behind at two different crime scenes, but I'd also spotted it on the scroll at my interviewee's house. My suspicion increased as I thought of Mrs Tysan or someone partnered with her watching me. I peered over my shoulder once more.

It was nearly eleven in the morning and many were working, but as I glanced around I could see groups of people that blended into a multi-coloured mixture of clothing and skin. As always the London streets were busy, but as I focused in on the crowd I could easily make out individual people. One fellow, dressed in a grey suit and tie, was speaking frantically on his mobile, a new-fangled device I know Justine would be goading me to buy had she been here with me. The expression on his face suggested he was ridiculing a subordinate, but as I caught a few desperate words, I realised he was only fighting to ask someone out to lunch…and losing by the sounds of it. He didn't seem to be paying attention to much else at least, certainly not me.

Just behind this fellow was a young couple a bit older than Justine, holding hands, wearing the same shirt, skipping along like they were in some sort of romance film. A bit too enthralled with one another to be spying…

To my right was another bloke speaking on his mobile, this conversation less about lunch and more about paying for it in our tanking economy. In fact, all around me people were on their phones, chatting about work and home, about money and children, moving in, moving out, personal issues I imagined they expected no one to overhear. As far as I could see, everyone was too caught up in their own lives to be keeping an eye on anyone else.

Even so, I thought as I turned my attention to the pavement in front of me, slipping my free hand into my trouser pocket, I was aware of a single, yet grave possibility. Mrs Tysan may be the culprit of these recent murders.

I hadn't placed much weight on this as I didn't have any conclusive evidence to say why I suspected her. But I did have some intuition, some feeling of unease that nagged at my mind, so there must have been something I observed either consciously or subconsciously to feel this way. Whether or not this intuition was correct was the question. I thought back to the interview.

 _"Yes…"_ I recalled Mrs Tysan saying after claiming she was an archaeologist and I'd questioned this. _"Sorreh I've neve' told yea. Yea jus' always seem rathe' busy…"_

She turned her eyes from me during this apology.

 _"First, a bit about what you do, please, Mrs Tysan."_

When I'd requested this information, she hesitated before answering.

 _"What was it you uncovered?"_

 _"A very special ar'efact."_

And again she'd hesitated when I'd asked to look at the artefact she had uncovered supposedly with Professor Layton.

Another mannerism I'd observed was her expression hardening, twice if I recall.

 _"Many of th' ar'efacts are described in grea' detail in there. It's a bi' disorganised as I've been cleaning awt th' 'ouse…"_

Once after she had talked of cleaning the house.

 _"I'll be looking forward to interviewing your husband."_

The second time when I'd said I was eager to interview Mr Tysan.

There had been one time her face relaxed.

 _"Quite the amount of discoveries you've made!"_

When I'd recognised her accomplishments. When I'd praised her… What could this mean?

But as I thought on it, I decided these weren't the most necessary questions to be asking. What I needed to concentrate on was something more specific. If these mannerisms pointed to her obscuring the murders. I recalled at one point her recollections of her responsibilities as an archaeologist had become a bit disjointed, as if she wasn't sure what to say. And that was when she had opted out of the interview she had insisted on giving in the first place. Could this behaviour suggest a hastily made plan? Like she was buying time?

What about the house? What had caught my attention? There had been the front door opening and closing… Someone trying to escape? Someone sneaking in to take me out for overhearing too much? What of those boxes of artefacts set near the door? One possibility involving the murders flashed through my mind. Perhaps they were trying to hide certain artefacts, namely that scroll, because they knew I'd be interviewing them. But this I could easily eliminate as an option. Mrs Tysan had taken the scroll directly from one of the boxes to show it to me. Also, the yellowed parchment had been covered in dust, as if it had been sat there for quite a while.

I thought through the interview once more, eager for answers, but was forced to admit I didn't have enough evidence to come to a logical conclusion. At present this was all useless speculation. My insatiable curiosity desired to gnaw at every little detail, but I couldn't let this matter possess me, waste my time. I'd have to file it in the back of my mind for later.

Besides, I thought as I stepped up to my door, it was nearly time for elevenses and my speculations wouldn't keep me from another cup of Earl Grey and a biscuit.

Upon stepping into my house, however, it became apparent to me that elevenses would be disrupted. I was about to greet Justine when I noticed someone else sat beside her at the kitchen table. A certain someone else whom I now realised had been the cause of the Tysan's front door opening and closing so rapidly.

"Fayne…" I hissed between my teeth. At least his presence solved one of the mysteries that had been on my mind, I thought, attempting to put a positive spin on the situation. Now I knew Mrs Tysan hadn't hired an assassin to shoot me dead from her front door…

Even so, I couldn't help thinking, perhaps I should suspect Fayne in the murders as well?

"Hey, Dad," Justine mumbled in welcome, breaking through my thoughts. It was obvious she was playing a video game of some sort on her laptop. I knew this not only from the sounds of fictional fighting, swords swinging, magic spells crackling, and various other noises I couldn't put a finger on, but also because she was preoccupied with her screen rather than my arrival.

"Hello, Justine," I smiled as I slipped off my Oxfords.

"Ayup, Miste' Dove!" Fayne joined in.

My face instantly fell at the boy's greeting. "Yes, hello, Fayne…"

"'Ow was th' in'ehview?"

"Fine…" I uttered. I headed towards the kettle, setting the folder down on the counter and turning my attention to the two. "So, how was your time at the mansion today?" I asked Justine as I put the kettle on.

"Good…" she said, her eyes still glued to her screen as she tapped away on her keyboard. "Worked on some…tests…and some…bosses…"

"Eh? You worked on some bosses, did you?" I questioned with a chuckle.

"Yeah…" Justine answered anyway.

I sighed. "Justine, why don't you take a break for a bit? You're confusing reality with fiction…"

"Can't… I'm fighting…Nightmare X…"

As always, there was no getting through to her in this state, so I gave up trying. I leaned against the counter, waiting for the kettle to finish as I pondered what exactly a Nightmare X could be when I noticed out of the corner of my eye Fayne watching me. I didn't look to him so as not to alert him I'd noticed, but I did wonder what he could be observing. Was there something on my face? Was my tie crooked? Something to do with the murders…? Or perhaps he was willing me to disappear so he could get to know Justine in a more personal sense… Well then, the joke was on him. _I_ would be the one causing _him_ to disappear.

"Don't you have school today, Fayne?" I asked him. Perhaps I could find a way to usher him out sooner than later.

He gave me a funny look. "It's Sunday, Miste' Dove."

"That's right… A job? Don't you work down at the bookstore?"

"We've jus' se' up a policy so we don' work Sundays." He beamed. "Wicked, innit? Now I migh' be able t' come ove' an' visi' you two more of'en!"

"Yes…" I hissed the word slowly. "I suppose that _is_ some form of wicked…"

Suddenly, Justine clenched her fists in a victory pose, punching the air.

"Yes, finally!" she cried, her thin eyes wide with triumph as sounds of multiple explosions emanated from her laptop. I assumed she'd won the fight with Nightmare X. She turned, spotting me. "Hey, Dad. Did you say something before?"

 _Now_ she notices… I smiled at her slyly.

"Yes, I was just telling Fayne about that time you left for the mansion without your trousers on."

Her excitement vanished as a horrified look now overtook her features. "No… You didn't, Dad!"

"No, you're right, I didn't," I said as a chuckle shook my shoulders. "But now he knows."

Her cheeks flushed as she whipped her head round so quickly to Fayne her ponytail practically lashed out at the boy, who, by this point, was doubled up in laughter.

"You left withou' yer trouse's?" he asked between chortles.

"No, that didn't actually happen!" She glared back at me, holding her arms out in disbelief. "Dad!"

I shrugged in self-satisfaction. "That's what you get for not properly welcoming your poor father home."

"You don't understand, Dad! That was one of the toughest bosses in the game!"

Fayne now turned back to Justine, his laughter fading. "Hey, y'were pri'y engaged in tha' game. Wha's it called?"

My moment of joy vanished as I watched the boy move in close to Justine. I quickly returned to scrutinising him with narrowed eyes, listening to every word, interpreting every facial expression, every mannerism…

"It's the Asteroid series, silly!" Justine replied. She turned her laptop towards Fayne…and the sly sod took the opportunity to lean in even closer! "It's been around since, like, the eighties. You _really_ should play it with me sometime. I think you'll like all the exploration and atmosphere."

As Fayne wrapped his arm around Justine's neck, playfully pulling her in, I focused my attention on her expression in defeat, knowing I'd see nothing but dreamy bliss in her eyes…or so I thought. There was a split-second twitch of her eyebrow anyone else would have missed. I nearly did myself as her expression quickly returned to its former delectation, but I knew what I had seen. A look of confusion. This surprised me. I had spied on the two from time to time at various cinemas (what if Fayne began snogging her? Someone had to be there to put an end to it!) and watched them getting on so well I was afraid I'd lose my daughter to the world of dating far too soon. But now that I thought on it, I'd never really paid much attention to minute details. I'd only wanted to be sure I could see feet on the floor and both hands at all times. Now that Fayne was in my house right before me, I clearly observed Justine was less taken with him and more confused as to how she should feel towards him. I couldn't help the triumphant smile that tugged at a corner of my mouth. It wasn't much but at least it was something.

But my leer quickly disappeared as Fayne loosened his arm around Justine's neck and his hand suddenly dangled dangerously near her chest. The kettle now reached its boiling point. So did my temper.

"…ad…"

The bubbling water simmered down as the kettle clicked off, but I didn't release Fayne from my deleterious stare as I filled my mug to the brim.

"Dad…?"

I guzzled the steaming cup, the burning liquid just the right temperature to stoke the flames now blazing in my guts. What I wouldn't do to the lad's hand if it drew any nearer…

"Dad!"

I blinked, snapping out of my trance, and tore my eyes from Fayne to look at Justine expectantly.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her brow furrowed in exaggerated concern. "You seem ready to murder someone!"

I cleared my throat. "It's nothing," I said forcing a chuckle as I refilled my mug again. "The interview didn't quite go as planned." At least it wasn't a complete lie…

"Well, you seriously need to relax," Justine said as she gave Fayne a teasing warning look, taking his arm and slipping out from underneath it. "You're practically shaking. Although," she said as she turned back to me, "that might be the _eighty-five_ cups of Earl Grey you've managed to gulp down today alone. You've drunk way more than normal, and that's saying something!"

At this, I downed another cup. Any shaking Justine saw was certainly not due to the Earl Grey as I had built up a tolerance from a very young age. Rather, this irritation was caused by Fayne's audacity to move in so close to Justine without her permission. It seemed she had the situation under control, being sure to let Fayne know she didn't desire intimacy by keeping her distance (or at least trying), so I refrained from speaking on it…for now. If I was honest, I wasn't sure how I'd address the boy's actions anyway. When I'd been younger I was always taught to be a gentleman, protect women, treat them with respect! But the times had changed so much… I only understood the current generations through what I'd learnt on the news and during community activities, but it was certainly enough to know gentlemanliness was a thing of the past… So was I in the wrong for trying to uphold such an outdated view? Or should I continue to fight for it?

What was worse, many times Justine reminded me she was able to handle herself and was so determined to fight her own battles I didn't know how she'd take it if I jumped to her rescue. But also, conflictingly, because she was my only daughter I felt the need to protect her.

On top of that, I thought, my eyes suddenly searching the tiled floor. She was adopted. Just as I was. I was connected to her not only as her father, but also as a fellow orphan… Someone who knew how it felt to lose those who should never be taken away so early in life. For a split second my mind flashed with recollections of how my own parents had perished. The explosion from the research lab, the fire that had engulfed our flat…the truth of the matter and how it had all been due to one selfish man… I imagined Justine hadn't experienced anything of this calibre, but that certainly didn't matter when it came to family. She didn't talk much about her past and I wouldn't push her to do so, but from my own experiences I knew the pain of loss was still as fresh on her mind as the day she'd witnessed the tragedy, whatever that tragedy may have been. Because of this, I'd really rather she not lose someone else, like a potential date who might use her and then leave…

At this, my brow knit in defiance and I downed yet another scorching cup of Earl Grey. If that meant literally kicking boys out of my house, I silently promised, then so be it!

I was about to begin plotting a different way to be rid of Fayne, but then a brilliant idea came to me. Instead of whinging about something I didn't feel the need to address at the moment, why not take advantage of this situation to ask Fayne about that scroll, see if he knew anything? Perhaps I would glean a bit more knowledge in order to determine whether or not I should suspect Mrs Tysan in the murders. At the same time, I could keep an eye on him…

"Fayne," I said while slipping a small notepad from my back trouser pocket, seating myself across from him and Justine. He instantly sat up straight as if he thought I'd not noticed his flirting with my daughter this entire time. "Do you mind if I conduct an informal interview with you?"

He blinked then his eyes widened in excitement as he grinned practically from ear to ear.

"No' a problem, Miste' Dove!"

Already this seemed a strange emotion to express but I would hold off speculating until after speaking with him. In any case, I still quickly noted Fayne's reaction to my request for later reference if need be. Wouldn't want to discard a potential piece of the puzzle. "Out of curiosity," I began, "how do you feel about archaeology?"

He looked up off to the side, bringing a hand to his chin as he thought on it.

"T' be 'onest, Miste' Dove, I'm no' as taken wi' it as me fam-ely." I jotted this response down. As I did, I noticed out of my peripheral his countenance shift, becoming even and unreadable. Moments later, it shifted again and he was suddenly very observant, his eyes searching my face as if he was trying to read my expression as well. This was suspicious… Did he suspect I was planning to ask about the scroll? I looked back up to him and his probing eyes widened just a millisecond in surprise before he broke out in another grin. I wrote this down while smiling kindly, hiding my mistrust.

"So, I'm guessing you're not planning on becoming an archaeologist then?"

"No, Miste' Dove. I'm more int' programin'"

"Even so, I'm sure you have a favourite artefact your mother and father have discovered?"

A sudden frown replaced his grin, an eyebrow raised.

"Me mam? She's no archaeologist. Tha's jus' me dad yer thinkin'."

Now it was my turn to express confusion. I could see the boy wasn't lying. He was genuinely puzzled, so much so he had stopped observing my features as he focused on my question. If this was true, and it seemed very likely it was, at least it made more sense why Mrs Tysan's story didn't line up when she was explaining her job as an archaeologist. But what reason did she have for lying to me?

Well, I thought, whatever she had planned, Fayne wasn't aware of it. He had an alibi. I noted what I'd learnt then dismissed this line of questioning for now to gather more relevant information.

"Yes, your father, I mean. What's one of your favourite artefacts of his?"

After a moment Fayne confessed, "There's so many, Miste' Dove…" I noticed his eyes shift quickly to the left, suggesting he was fibbing. "Bu' I can't really pu' a finger on which one."

I decided to cut to the chase. "Your mother and I discussed a scroll today. Very curious artefact. Do you know anything about it?"

Fayne's face lit up then darkened again. He had been about to say something but decided against it. As I watched closer, I saw sadness briefly cross his features. Had I hit a nerve…?

"Well…Dad's jus' no' been 'ome much, so…" he shifted in his chair, taking great care to control his facial expression, "I don' know a lo' abou' it…"

I could see Fayne was uncomfortable so I allowed him his silence while writing down and considering his words. His father had not been home much… I suppose he was out researching and uncovering more artefacts, but why would this upset Fayne? I reflected on the boy's mother. The absence of Mr Tysan might explain why she had impersonated an archaeologist. And now that I was thinking on her again, I recalled she had become a bit distressed when she or I mentioned her husband…

This information, though very curious, unfortunately didn't help me understand why that scroll and those scraps of paper were emblazoned with the same insignia or why Mrs Tysan might be involved. I glanced over to the folder Mrs Tysan had handed me. Perhaps it was time to search the source.

"Do yea need to know fer yer paper, Miste' Dove?"

I looked from the folder to Fayne. Another smile shown on his lips, but it very clearly contrasted with the concern furrowing his brow.

"That's fine, Fayne," I said, noticing concern was replaced with reprieve at this simple comment. I hefted the heavy folder from off the counter and placed it before me. "Your mother provided me quite enough to extrapolate from."

With this I opened the folder cover, tuning out Justine and Fayne who were quickly back to prattling on about video games and computers. I began leafing through the novel-sized stack of documents, skimming every paper for words relating to the scroll, excitement encasing me like that of a young detective reading through his first murder/mystery encasing me. Fifteen minutes later, however, I'd found nothing and my vigour began to dwindle as I continued, discouraged. I'd only scratched the very surface of the stack and knew this would take a day or so—time I certainly didn't have, in other words—to inspect every single page.

But upon discarding the next page into a mentally noted, rather tall and leaning 'not relevant' stack, that's when I came upon it. A paper featuring the scroll. Just as when I'd seen it at the Tysan house the image alone gripped my attention. The whole kitchen could have disappeared and I'd not notice as my vivacity was renewed, my eyes darting through the information, eager to eat up every word.

 _'_ _Scroll of the Guardians_

 _Not much is known of the letters and numbers printed on this Scroll but the circles within are theorised to represent a set of powers. These were dubbed Universal Powers as their symbols seem to represent elements needed in order for humanity to not only survive, but thrive as a race._ _'_

And that was it. I scanned the page for more, but there was nothing but an image below of the scroll unfurled, revealing its jumbled letters and numbers as well as the cycle of circled symbols. I was disappointed, wanting so fervently to crack this case, but this paper provided me with more questions than answers… Why was it named Scroll of the Guardians? Who were these Guardians? Was the one seeking these powers the murderer who had left the hourglass symbol on his victims' bodies?

I sighed, running a hand through my hair then glanced to my watch. Half-eleven. All my leads on the connection between this scroll and those pieces of paper had led to dead ends. No, not dead ends, I decided. More the opposite. More long, winding roads that branched off down more winding roads. In any case, I didn't have time for this multifaceted mystery at present. I should be focusing on the articles I had due tomorrow. Mary, inspired by her sister Hilda, an Interpol agent, was as much a mystery enthusiast as I was, which was one of the reasons she'd become a newspaper editor. But she'd not be happy if I sacrificed my articles to ponder a mystery I couldn't solve at the moment. Defeated, I popped into my bedroom and collected a few of the rough drafts I'd been working on last night then returned to the kitchen table to begin writing articles I knew would not be nearly as enjoyable as gathering information on that Scroll.

"You know what I've never understood, Dad?" Justine said upon my return. "Why are you a _newspaper_ reporter?"

I cocked my head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the news is pretty much all on-line. Isn't your job a bit…ancient history?"

At first I thought she was being cheeky but she'd tilted her head and I knew she was asking a genuine question. "Are you suggesting my job is outdated?"

"Well, kind of… Maybe you should try switching to telling the news on the internet? Like a blog or something?"

At this, she returned to talking with Fayne about coding. HTML, CSS, binary… It was all a puzzle to me. Perhaps I should make the switch from newspaper to a more modern resource, I thought. This idea hadn't occurred to me just now. In fact when Justine had first become enamoured with technology around five years ago when I'd bought my first (and only) computer, I'd considered exchanging physical paper for virtual blog. I didn't exactly need the money, but it would provide a more challenging atmosphere. And, I'll be honest, maybe I could look a bit more 'cool' with the younger generation…at least with my daughter. If nothing else, it would help me understand all this new technology I'd not been properly introduced to. And maybe then I'd learn to accept that Virtual Autopsy table I still had my doubts about…

As the day carried on, I attempted to work at my articles while also attempting to watch Justine and Fayne while _also_ attempting to train my attention on my job and not the very tantalising mystery of that Guardians Scroll…all at once. The task of keeping Fayne in line was rather easy as merely sitting across from the two seemed enough to remind the boy he wasn't alone with my daughter. Fayne finally departed when his mother rang for him to eat lunch (whether she was the murderer or not, I silently thanked her a hundred times over), and I was soon left with only the task of keeping my focus off the Scroll…

However, this task proved to be the real challenge. At one point while writing up some rough drafts, I'd been so engrossed in my thoughts on the mystery, I'd written an entire article about scrolls, scraps and murder rather than what it was meant to be on, the grass growing green once more as spring settled on London.

Half an hour of erasing, rewriting, crumpling up paper and rewriting again, I'd still made little progress and, frustrated, decided to break for lunch myself. Perhaps my empty stomach was what was truly keeping me from focusing, I thought, (though I was rather doubtful…) I ate with Justine, most of the meal consisting of Earl Grey, and once satisfied I turned back to my articles. But the moment I began writing I soon realised even with a full belly my concentration hadn't improved. In fact, now that I was comfortable and in a relaxed state of mind, I wanted to scour the folder for more information on the Scroll than ever before. I sighed, resting an elbow on the table while scratching my head.

"Are you okay, Dad?" I heard Justine ask, laughter in her voice.

"I'm not so sure…" I replied, leaning back in my seat while staring down the blank page before me. The vacant, light-blue lines seemed to be mocking me.

"I'm telling you, switch to a blog. Typing is much faster anyway."

"The problem isn't the manner in which I'm writing my articles. It's more what the articles are about… Namely, not the mystery I uncovered today."

"Mystery?" she asked enthusiastically while looking up from her laptop to me. "About what?"

"Today's interviews. The murders—both this morning's and the one I'd investigated last week—seem connected to…" I hesitated, not willing to disclose my suspicion of Fayne's family, "well, an artefact of sorts."

Justine fell quiet, quickly returning her attention to her laptop screen. I knew it was because I had mentioned the murders. Good job I'd left out the bit about Fayne…

"So, like an unsolved mystery or something?" she put in. I could tell she would rather not discuss this any further but made an effort so as not to leave the conversation unfinished. Even so, behind that mask of indifference, I saw the gears turning in her mind. Though she was repulsed by crime, her desire to discover the uncovered drew her insatiable curiosity, just as it did mine. I couldn't help smiling in fatherly pride.

"Yes, and it's acting as a snare to my attention. Perhaps, you're right," I added, attempting to lighten the mood. "I'll have to type up my articles rather than pen them…"

Justine chuckled, beaming at me. "So you admit technology wins!"

"…The battle…" I corrected, flashing a teasing smug smile.

"Someday you'll have to admit technology wins the war…"

"Yeah, yeah…" I murmured, waving a dismissive hand.

With this, I left for my office. Perhaps the atmosphere of where I usually worked would help me focus, I thought in a last-ditch effort to be productive. After all this faffing about, I really would need to start typing the final drafts. Lest I be dreaming of more paper walls crushing me to bits…

While my computer took a minute booting up, I used this time to think back on earlier this morning, summarising all I had learnt on this mystery. At this point I was out of excuses for procrastinating, but maybe organising my thoughts would actually relieve some of my need to ponder. I couldn't be sure Mrs Tysan wasn't in on the murders as I still didn't have enough evidence to say. Assuming it wasn't her, though, I felt one thing was certain. This single connection of the two insignias found on objects so different from one another—the dead bodies and then the scroll about these Guardians—must have been planned out by someone for someone else to find. Whether or not I was that someone else was debatable, but, again, I considered it a possibility. We were dealing with murder after all, and since I'd managed to keep my life this long, I'd appreciate knowing whether or not I was a target…

Suddenly something popped up before me, reflecting in my glasses. I looked up to my computer screen expecting to see my desktop. Instead, the entire background was black and lines upon lines of numbers were printed upon it. I stared at the numbers in surprise analysing them until I realised they formed an image of sorts. Looked to be an insect… What was this? A virus?

While considering calling Justine in for help, I noticed some of the numbers repeated. It was a puzzle. I tried it out, jotting the repeating numbers down on a fresh page of my back pocket notepad, but after a few casual solutions I couldn't seem to get it. I felt a bit dejected. My puzzle skills were once quite sharp. Sharp enough to come up with at least some answer for these numbers. But they must have grown rusty after all this time. A thought of Professor Layton, the famous archaeologist I had recently chatted with Mrs Tysan about, came to me. Not only was he a renowned archaeologist, but he was also quite the puzzle-solver. He'd probably have this one done by now and be onto a second one… Perhaps it would do me good to meet with him again, catch up over a cup of Earl Grey. It had been quite a while after all. Years… And the last time I'd spoken to him had been during a darker time. The Professor had been acting strangely too, a fear, a very strong trepidation in his eyes and voice alike. I could still remember his words to this day…

For now, however, I thought as I looked back at the puzzle in an effort to clear my mind of these morose ponderings, I'd mull over it on my own…

I glanced to the stacks of rough drafts due tomorrow noting how many of them were still nothing but blank pages.

…That was, when I had the time…

Far from the Dove home, many metres underground, a man stood, one foot holding his weight, the other pinning his victim beneath the heel of his Oxfords. His countenance was like chiselled stone—firm and cold—as he gripped his hostage's collar tight. His left eye was hidden behind a black patch, his right hard and dark as obsidian, watching on with indifference as he repeatedly stomped down onto his victim's thoroughly beaten body.

Deciding the abducted man had suffered enough, at least for now, he placed all his weight on the heel digging into his ribs then stepped back away from the cage, closing and locking the door once more. He straightened and clasped his hands behind his back, his perfectly ironed suit crinkling, the multitude of medals hosted upon his chest shimmering in the sole light above. He slightly tilted his chin so as to stare down upon any who dared defy him. Such was the man's crime.

"We've been awarded with good news," the man, Thanat, informed his hostage, his voice laced with relish. "Good news for me, that is."

The hostage stared up at Thanat, his eyes ringed with dark circles due partially from many sleepless nights, partially from the torture he endured each day. His limbs were wrapped by ropes, his bound body pressed so tightly within the small cage his lean-fitted clothing bulged out between the steel bars. His mouth was not taped shut but even so there wasn't much risk of him speaking. A collar fastened around his neck slightly hidden by the lapel of his soiled trench coat would send a rather strong electric shock ripping through his system if he made so much as a peep.

"You wouldn't have to endure this if you'd only listened," Thanat continued icily. He watched a tear mingled with blood seep from the man's eye as he pondered to himself. He had just captured the man only a week ago, but he had spoken with him long before, years ago in fact. Had offered him money, fame, power for his help. But he had not only refused but also gone against Thanat's desires. Now he was done offering and was taking away. "Because of your insolence, we've recruited someone else.

But don't think you're now free to go." The commander paced languidly about the room, his steps _clack, clack, clack_ ing upon the cement floor. He watched with satisfaction out of the corner of his eye as his hostage flinched with each footfall. "You're still involved, but you've been…demoted. This other man taking your place is someone very special to me. And someone I believe you know." He turned round to his hostage. His face was now cast in shadow as he leaned into the cage, but his one good eye shone with malice, staring into the man as if observing his frantically beating heart. He pulled a photograph from his pocket, the one given him by Bill Hawks many years ago just before he was sent to prison, and flipped it to show his hostage who exactly he meant. The man's eyes widened in realisation and fear. Just as planned. "I've sent him the experiment's puzzle, the one _you_ were meant to decipher. When he solves it, we earn something—more knowledge of where the second power is hidden. _You,_ however, will lose something. Or some _one_ , I should say."

The man swallowed.

"Who…?" he choked out before the shock collar reprimanded him with a bolt of electricity.

Thanat fixed him in his merciless gaze.

"Possibly your adoptive mother. Possibly your adoptive father. The _real_ you? Maybe even your old apprentice? Who can say…?"

The man clenched his jaw.

"Not them…" he whimpered through his teeth. Once more electricity bit into his throat, his limbs and insides succumbing to the shock. " _Please!_ "

Thanat watched the man's body arch involuntarily then collapse heavily to the floor, his sides heaving with each laboured breath, his soft sobs wracking his broken form.

"And now for your demotion," Thanat carried on, dismissing the man's soft pleas. "Bill Hawks. You knew him as a former scientist and London's prime minister. What you could never have guessed was his involvement in our organisation. We relied on the piece of the Guardian he holds, used to extract more powers. In addition, he was paying back and rather large debt to us. Now he's in prison, locked behind both bars and the Guardian's seal, and it's partially due to _your_ involvement." His frown deepened, carving into his flesh. "You want my pardon? Break him out."

For a moment the hostage could do nothing but stare at Thanat as he considered this request. He had already endured so much loss… And if he didn't comply, he would only endure more… But he couldn't… He wouldn't! It had taken him years, practically losing his life to uncover Bill Hawks' secrets! The man was in prison for a reason! No… He'd have to refuse…

Weakly, the hostage shook his head.

With this, Thanat nodded curtly, expecting the answer. He turned and shot over his shoulder, "You've made your decision. I do hope you don't plead anymore, then. It's quite unbecoming of someone who's challenged an organisation more powerful than any nation's government." And he began to leave.

Between the clacking of his footfalls, Thanat waited patiently, listening carefully. _Clack… Clack… Clack…_

" _AHHHHHH!_ "

There it was. The sound of desperation. The scream of a learned man realising he might as well be nothing more than the most foolish of prey.

Yet, despite the flashfire of victory that swept through him, the fiery sensation of absolute power over another man who would lead him to fulfil his goal, he did not smile. His frown only deepened further and he thought of his family. All he wanted was to hold them in his arms once more…


	4. Chapter 3

The sun began to rise at six the next morning, filtering amidst the London city buildings and in through my window. Its cosy glow warmed my room as it splashed the plain white walls a silky flavescent.

As it drew further over the horizon, however, the glow distorted into a stabbing radiance that attempted to pierce through the dark calm of my slumber. I squeezed my eyelids tight against its efforts, but to no avail. It quickly won out, dragging me roughly into the waking world. No matter how far I tried to reach with my unconscious and latch back onto sleep, I couldn't escape into the dreams that dissolved like shadows in the light.

Such a sunny morning… was my first groggy thought as I came to. It was unusually bright so early… A good minute passed as my muddled mind wrestled with dissipating fantasy and returning reality before I realised something was off. The sun shouldn't have disturbed me at all. My bed was beside the window, not in front of it. Unless…

I opened my eyes, then quickly clenched them shut again with a grunt of surprise, twisting my head away from the glaring sunlight that nearly seared my retinas. For a moment I sat hunched over, too stunned by such a rude awakening to do much else but blink rapidly to rid the sunbursts dancing before my sights. As they slowly melted away I attempted to understand my position in my own bedroom. I knew for certain the window was on my right as I now cautiously squinted while glancing in that direction. And there was the door to my left. And all four walls. And then…there was my bed, free of any sign it'd been slept in and on the other side of the room. That meant… I looked down to see a mess of papers covering what I was now positive was a wooden surface. Yes, it seemed I had fallen asleep, yet again, at my bedroom desk.

Well, that was one mystery solved already, I thought, though it was difficult to feel triumphant when the moment I stretched, pins and needles speared every stiff muscle in my body. I rubbed my aching neck, yawned then blinked blearily as I looked back down at my desk. Talking of mysteries… Some of the papers strewn about were written in my usual organised and neat handwriting, others in a rushed scrawl. But the pages on the very top of the clutter displayed not a single word. I spotted a particularly messy scrap sheet that was scribbled with various numbers and letters all over, like a madman had attempted to crack some code that existed within only his mind. I guess I had been a bit of a madman last night in a way, I admitted as I rested my back against the chair, grasping the sheet and looking it over thoughtfully.

At around seven yesterday evening I'd finished my final drafts for our morning paper and sent the files off to Mary. Though I was glad to have completed at least a small percentage of my work, the emails had seemed to take forever as my eyes were continuously drawn to a very interesting file that had appeared on my computer. I recalled the completely black screen, the lines of green numbers—1s and 2s, 3s and 5s, 8s, 13s, 21s, all the way up to a couple 196418s—typed in the form of an insect. It had looked like something a computer hacker would have created…at least, that's what I imagined based on what Justine had told me about hackers… I'd managed to minimise the puzzle when beginning my drafts but I couldn't help glancing to its icon in the taskbar after every sentence I typed, as if it would disappear if it didn't receive the proper eye contact it deserved. The moment the emails containing my drafts had completed their journey to Mary, I'd clicked on the minimised puzzle, setting to work scanning it over and scribbling out disjointed numbers and letters meant to be theories on what it could represent. Nearly an hour of chicken scratching and hypothesising later, Justine had ducked in to ask about a very late supper.

"Dad, it's eight o'clock. Are you going to have tea or what?" I remembered her asking. "I've made some rice with veg and chicken and it's getting cold so hurry it up!" The mention of food made me realise just how famished I was but my eyes remained glued to the puzzle, my insatiable curiosity winning over my growling stomach.

"In a bit," I replied when I'd finally registered someone had prompted an answer of me.

There was a pause in the conversation, words replaced with approaching footsteps, then, "Alright, who are you and what have you done with Dad?"

This caught my attention. I tore my eyes from the puzzle to look at Justine, who had a hand on her forehead as she squinted at my computer screen. "What do you mean?"

She laughed. "It was a joke, Dad. That looks like some sort of coding, but I know you couldn't possibly have done that. You barely know how to turn the computer on without needing help."

I huddled back over the scrap paper but my now withering gaze was trained on her while I pointed at her matter-of-factly with my pencil. "I'll have you know it took me only two minutes to find the power button this time."

"Brilliant. Maybe you'll learn how to double-click next."

Ignoring her cheek, I returned to my scribbling. "I didn't create this. It was sent to me."

"From a co-worker or something?"

"No, it just appeared when I'd booted up my computer."

"What?" she suddenly yelped. "That's not normal!" I felt a nudge and looked up to see Justine pushing me over to tap away at my keyboard. "You need to get rid of this!"

"No, don't!"

She was poised over the keys as she shot me a stare of emphatic concern, her eyes wide while her brow was knit in utter bafflement. "Dad, this could be some ransomware!"

I tilted my head. "Ransom what?"

"Ransom _ware_. It's a software that locks files or even your whole computer until you pay the culprit money or anything else they'd want!"

"But, I want to solve this puzzle…"

"By solving it, you might be walking straight into their trap!" she nudged me over again. "Budge over so I can try fixing this!"

"Just one second!" I exclaimed when I realised how serious she was. "At least allow me to copy the numbers down." I straightened my glasses. "Or is technology so advanced computer viruses can hack paper now too?"

Now it was her turn to give me a withering look but I ignored it as I flipped to a fresh sheet of notebook paper, writing out the numbered insect. Once finished, I reluctantly conceded, allowing her to tap away until it disappeared.

"Well, it doesn't look like it ruined anything…" Justine mused as she straightened up, keeping a cautious eye on the screen, finger resting on her chin. After a moment she determined it was completely clear then turned to me. "Now, about supper?"

I imagine what met Justine's gaze at this point was my hunched back while I continued to work furiously at the puzzle. The last thing I heard was an exasperated huff before I was dragged by the arm from the office and into the kitchen. I would have escaped back to my desk if Justine hadn't pressured me to stay by holding the now only existing copy of the insect puzzle between her thumbs and forefingers, prepared to rip it to shreds if I so much as looked to the paper before finishing a proper meal.

And now that I was thinking back on it, perhaps for my own survival it was good she had held the puzzle hostage…

After finishing what I admit was a very lovely tea despite it having eaten away at my time, I added another hour's worth of chicken scratches to my scrap sheet before I was compelled to admit temporary defeat lest I went mad with frustration. I had tried many things, from organising the repeating numbers into a list to thinking on what each number might represent in nature to various mathematics operations to looking up insect facts on-line. But these theories had all led to dead ends and only after I had worked so hard to attempt proving them true. With a grunt of irritation, I drew my fingers through my dishevelled hair for the fiftieth time and snapped my pencil down onto the scrap sheet in defeat.

Still feeling the need to sate my curiosity, however, I spent about another hour or so searching through the folder of old, weathered papers given me by Mrs Tysan, hoping I could find more information on that Scroll of the Guardians. While doing so, on occasion the scraps of paper placed on the bodies I had investigated came to mind. The reason I was searching so hard for answers as to what exactly was that Scroll was due to those scraps, so tiny yet surrounded by such a large mystery. Along with the scraps, my suspicion towards the Tysan family pulsed in my chest, like a cautionary, background alarm, reminding me this murder had most likely been planned in advanced and that I could very well play a part in that plan. I still couldn't be sure who amongst the family members the murderer was, if any at all. I had at least ruled out Fayne as when I'd held an informal interview yesterday he had seemed uninformed of his parents' actions. If anyone was the culprit, it would seem logical to assume Mrs Tysan, as she had been acting the most questionable. However, logic wasn't always correct. I hated to admit it, but I knew by first-hand experience there could have been someone else pulling the strings, forcing her to act in a manner to put me off the path of the real murderer. She could be a red herring.

With these encompassing thoughts on my mind, I was energised enough to stay awake despite my desire to sleep. I researched the thousands of pages packed within that folder, searching for answers to the Guardian Scroll which would, hopefully, in turn provide some leads on those scraps set on the bodies and the murderer behind it all. Unfortunately, there had been such a multitude of pages, so many unrelated to the Scroll, so many dead ends I couldn't get through them before my eyelids grew too heavy to keep open any longer.

It was well past midnight by the time my body had forced itself to retire, but my mind refused to slow. Every dream had involved a numbered insect, the circled hourglass, the seven insignias on the Scroll, a faceless figure murdering innocent civilians and leaving behind clues to an even larger mystery. These puzzles seemed to be doggedly pursuing me as much as I was pursuing them…

As I returned from these thoughts, I recalled just how tired I was as a result of my mind's voracious hunting for answers. I yawned again, fighting the urge to drop into bed and close my eyes for just five more minutes, but I couldn't help casting a longing look at the creaseless blankets that beckoned me. Though I typically put all my faith in the Earl Grey I drank each morning to rouse my senses, I had a feeling I'd need more help today. This was my second night in quite a while of enduring such a restless sleep, after all. For a moment I wished I had dreamt of the danger of my own articles crushing me under their weight again. At least then I'd have woken up alert…

I blinked. Danger… Intrigue… That was it. These two elements could keep me attentive and though I couldn't obtain them from my dreams now, I could find them in reality. Right in front of me, in fact. I glimpsed the folder from Mrs Tysan and the scrap sheets with the insect puzzle and my theories regarding it. I'd work hard at the office today, but in between my moments of research, I'd spend several sneaky minutes looking over these mysteries. That way I could stay awake and possibly make some headway on a solution or two…

This was such a snap decision I hadn't given myself time to think of the consequences but as I took the folder in hand, stuffing my scribbled pages on the insect puzzle within, my spontaneity soon melted away to my underlying caution, my hand freezing in the air, hovering over a few more sheets of scribbled paper. I could really hurt my reputation as a journalist if Mary caught me working on puzzles rather than articles. Possibly be sacked even. And then how would I support myself and Justine? And, almost as important, how would I ever teach Richard a lesson in objectivity?

Perhaps… I soon acquiesced with a discouraged frown, reluctantly withdrawing my hand and shoving it in my pocket. Perhaps I would just look these mysteries over at the kitchen table before work… That didn't give me much time, but at least it was something…

With this in mind, I exited my room and began for the bathroom to shower. I was soon stopped short, however, when I noticed Justine's door was open. It was dark in her room, but I could see her outlined in staggering sunlit strips filtering in from between the drawn blinds. I couldn't help but laugh. She too had fallen asleep at her desk and, like me, this wasn't the first time it had happened. Like foster father, like foster daughter, I guess.

In her sleep I could see Justine was clenching her arms loosely in her lap, attempting to ward off a chill. I popped in to find a light blanket, glancing around her room as I did. It was decorated with not pictures of friends, but of posters. They plastered the walls to the point they had practically become wallpaper. A rather large periodic table poster here, a four fundamental forces poster there, one about string theory, one about atoms and quarks… These were all very interesting and I knew far too much about them only because Justine had explained them (or at least attempted) to me, but the one that truly caught my attention was a recently tacked up famous physicists poster. My features stiffened as my eyes instinctively scanned the faces of various researchers. Just as I thought… I noted somewhere in the back of my mind there were at least two scientists in particular missing from that poster, and Justine would never learn about them. I quickly looked away.

Amongst the science posters were also plenty of video game posters. One of a bunch of monsters with humans holding what appeared to be some red-and-white ball. One of a moustached man in red and blue jumping on a…turtle? Where did they get these ideas? One of a man clad in a blue suit like the one I used to wear, his hairstyle reminiscent of a hedgehog's quills, his forefinger pointing right at me. He looked the barrister type and seemed to be singling me out as a culprit. Maybe at one point, but not this time… I hastily carried on. Right above Justine's bed was another new poster of some character in a very garish spacesuit of sorts. The shoulder pads were enormous and attached to one arm was a…cannon? Even the blanket I now retrieved off her bed had a graphic on it. A bit fuzzy to make out, but it looked to be a man in a bowler hat with a young boy dressed in a red cap and jumper standing at his side. 'Doctor Clayton,' I read the old-style text at the bottom. This one appeared the most normal of all but maybe I felt this only because I had half a mind to curl up in it myself. Though I had an inkling Justine wouldn't be too pleased to find her father passed out in her room wrapped in one of her blankets. Before my temptation to sleep grew any more unbearable, I placed the blanket on Justine, gently tucking her in as best I could in her current slumped sitting position, then turned to leave.

"Dad?" a muffled voice uttered at my back. "What are you doing?"

I faced Justine again, smiling in amusement. "Making sure my hard-worker is warm while she sleeps at her desk."

Hearing this, she looked down to confirm she really had fallen asleep at her desk and my amused smile altered to one of self-satisfaction.

"You were so eager to take a dig at me yesterday. Now who's the one sleeping in strange places?"

"I'm blaming that on you," she teased sleepily. "You're rubbing off on me…"

"Excuses, excuses…"

Justine opened her eyes just a crack more and her brow knit in question. "What is that?"

I looked to the folder in my hands where her sights had been drawn. "The mystery I've been researching."

"A…what is it?" she asked blearily.

I chuckled at her waking stupor. "This folder? Well, it's full of research I've been doing on quantum physics."

The effect my words had was immediate. "It is?" She asked upon shooting up in her chair, her eyes wide with enthusiasm, looking as if she was ready to tackle the day. "Can I look?"

"I was joking…"

She began to wilt, her eyelids growing heavy, and her head soon rested on the desk surface once more. "Oh, it's just that insect puzzle," she muttered through a yawn. Her brow furrowed in weary frustration. "I told you not to work on that… It'll ruin you…"

I was sure she meant it would ruin my computer as she had been so worried about the digital puzzle infecting the hard drive, but she was far too tired to realise her mistake.

"Need a cup of Earl Grey to help wake you up?" I offered.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "I wouldn't drink that stuff even if there was a chocolate one…"

There was indeed a chocolate flavoured Earl Grey, but I had known while going into the offer she'd never drink it, nor any tea. Even when I'd first adopted her she'd not liked tea. I thought maybe she'd grow out of it, but it seemed I could never convince her to partake in the delicious water of life that rejuvenated me each morning. Talking of, I thought, stifling a yawn of my own, it was high time I brewed a cup before I truly did pass out in Justine's room…

"Your loss," I said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Yeah, not really…" And with that she turned over, wrapping herself tight in the blanket I'd placed on her. I smiled. I'd be sure to make a second cup and set it on her desk before I left for work.

After closing Justine's door behind me, I carried on with my morning routine. It took quite a bit longer than usual, though, due to my lethargy and, I hesitate to admit, because I'd almost killed myself twice. During my shower, I'd practically drowned nodding off under the faucet and while having a shave I'd nearly slit my own throat. After patching up my face with pieces of tissue here and there, I'd managed to slip on the usual, charcoal-black trousers, a white button-up, blue tie and olive waistcoat, with only one minor mistake of fastening the top waistcoat button in the middle buttonhole (and perhaps that minor mistake was due to my other minor mistake of forgetting to put on my glasses).

When I finally made it out to the kitchen with every button fastened correctly and my glasses in place, it was seven o'clock. It had taken a whole hour to finish my routine…and that wasn't counting my stop in Justine's room! I had only forty-five minutes before work and I honestly wondered whether or not I'd make it on time and in one piece as my morning trials weren't over quite yet. While waiting for the kettle to boil, I had tried to keep my mind engaged by looking over the two mysteries that had caused my severe fatigue in the first place, but the folder and its articles quickly transformed from engrossing thriller to makeshift pillow as I nodded off once more. I started awake moments later at the kettle's sharp click and, half-asleep, rose from my seat as if rising from the grave to pour two cups of tea. Once seated with a piece of toast and knife in hand (and a bit of hot water soaking my sleeve from my unsteady pouring), I occupied myself with some basic buttering, but fell asleep bang into the upturned blade. It was only after awakening to find the blunt point digging into my chest that I knew this wasn't good. I'd never been this tired before, not even when I'd worked longer hours and uncovered more mysteries when I was younger…

I looked to the folder again as I downed my tea, reconsidering my earlier plot to bring it along. I still felt wary about this decision, but if I had any chance of staying awake (and alive) today, I would have to take the risk. I finished my toast, wiped my mouth, popped into Justine's room to leave a note on where I'd be on a cup of Earl Grey, then took the folder in hand and trudged for the entryway. Besides, it was Mary's fault I had discovered at least one of these mysteries. She had no one to blame but herself for my cunning! At least, that's what I'd tell myself for now…

I travelled for my agency by foot, as usual, but after nearly running into a utility pole only metres from the house I no longer trusted myself to get there safely. So, embarrassingly, I hailed a taxi to help me along and was driven the .2 kilometres it took to reach the office. I was too tired to mind and paid the amused cabbie the three quid it had cost then took matters into my own hands once more as I walked for the building.

A few co-workers greeted me from their desks as I stepped in. I returned the greeting by wearily raising my third mug of Earl Grey then headed to my own desk. I dropped heavily into my chair and glanced to the time displayed on my computer monitor. 7.55. At least I had made it in time and, I set my notebook down and looked to my hands, twisting them front to back, I didn't seem to have become a ghost so I must have made it alive as well. Most important, however, I still had a few minutes before I would need to clock in. I took a cursory glance around the office and once determining I was safe from any prying eyes I slipped the folder from Mrs Tysan out from underneath my notebook. It was quite a bit slimmer than when I'd first obtained it as, to make sure it didn't appear suspicious to any wandering eye that might have seen it, specifically Mary's wandering eye, I'd taken out all the documents I'd already looked over from both last night and earlier this morning. This thinner stature would make it much easier to hide and retrieve. If this line of defence was broken it would be more vulnerable to curious, searching hands, but even so, it would most likely seem just a regular folder I'd brought along for organisational purposes. For a moment I was proud of this scheming I had come up with, then I considered how dodgy I was acting. I cleared my throat awkwardly. Those days should have been over by now…

With the five minutes I had I began to look over as many papers as I could, but those minutes quickly turned to seconds and I'd barely made it through a quarter of the documents left. Probably the most that had happened in this time was the Earl Grey finally taking effect, allowing me a more alert composure but I was none the wiser about the mystery and my curiosity was still hungry for more information.

After punching in, I turned slightly in my chair and glanced surreptitiously to Mary's desk. She wasn't there. Probably in the back organising today's paper. Good, I thought, suddenly not minding my sly actions. This was for the truth behind these mysteries after all… I had time tonight to work on any articles she'd give me today so why not sneak in a few more—

"Good morning, Mr Dove!"

My heart nearly burst out of my chest and I slammed the folder cover closed as I spun around in my chair. Mary was stood there beaming at me. Chipper as always when she nearly kills me!

"H-Hello, Mary," I stuttered, my mouth drawn in an innocent smile I already knew was less-than-convincing. I quickly tucked the folder back under my notebook.

Suddenly, Mary doubled-up in uncontrollable laughter and in my worry she'd seen what I was up to, I could only watch her in confusion. When she finally drew breath, she noticed my expression but her response was interrupted by bouts of even more laughter.

"D— _haha—_ Did you just— _pff-ff—_ Did you just learn how to shave today?! _Hahahaa_!"

I blinked and realised the moment my hands touched my jawline I had forgotten to remove the pieces of bloodied tissue from my earlier shaving incident. I couldn't help the now sheepish smile that tugged at my lips.

"Oh, come off it…" I said as I plucked the pieces off, shooting her a good-natured glare. "It's your fault anyway."

"Why?" she questioned, her words still touched with laughter. "Did my phone call wake you up before you could finish your beauty sleep?"

Upon hearing this, I suddenly forgot the folder and its mysteries. "Phone call?" I enquired with concern, slipping a hand into my pocket and retrieved my mobile. The screen displayed a missed call at five in the morning, something I saw everyday but had completely forgotten in my tired stupor."My apologies, Mary. It wasn't important, was it?"

"Oh, no need to worry, Clive!" she said as she smacked me on the back. I almost coughed up the tea I'd already downed. She really didn't know her own strength…well, and I should admit I am rather…skinny… "I only called to try and wake you up."

My concern quickly melted to apathy. "Good job I didn't notice then. I'm already tired enough…"

She cupped her chin, examining me. "You know, now that your face is free of tissue, I notice you look positively _knackered_ today."

I nodded weakly in reply.

"Maybe I should lay off giving you so many articles to write. You're my best reporter and if you die, I don't know what I'll do!"

"It's too late now. I couldn't sleep with this mystery on my mind and I've already had my run in with death quite a few times this morning."

"Mystery?" Mary's curiosity was piqued now. "What mystery? A movie? A novel? A television show?"

"A real mystery involving these murders."

"Oh yeah! I read your article on those earlier." She elbowed me in the side teasingly as she twittered, "I put it on the front page… So that explains why your article on spring in London was about murder instead."

I looked to her with a sinking feeling I knew was already confirmed. "Don't tell me I accidentally submitted that as an article…"

"I'm guessing you were so caught up in the details of the killings, you made a rough draft then wrote it into a final draft on accident?"

"I suppose I did…"

Mary just laughed heartily and smacked me on the back again. "That's the enthusiasm we want to see, though. I guess it's a good job I called you at five in the morning to investigate those, right?"

"Probably not..." I said, running a hand through my hair. "My thoughts are so consumed with this mystery I can't seem to get anything else done." Then, seeing my opportunity, I flashed her a crafty smile. "But I guess if you think it's a good idea, that gives me more time to look into this unsolved case…"

"Now, now, Mr Dove, our whole paper can't be about murders and mysteries… We need to have some normal news as well. Just have a fresh article written up for me by tonight. And make sure it's about spring rain falling from London's skies, not blood."

"I'll try to not mix the two."

After we both shared a laugh, Mary became rather serious. "Hey, I hate to break up this moment, but I've got some bad news. No pun intended." She took a newspaper she'd been clutching from under her arm and slapped it down in front of me. I glanced at the header. _The Daily._ Richard's agency…

"Dare I ask what the bad news is…?"

"They've earned more subscribers. Again. I don't know how it keeps happening when most of their articles are rubbish!"

"Unfortunately, many people enjoy reading rubbish these days…" I muttered as I scooped up the paper. 'Strange Being Seen Flying Through The Sky…' I glimpsed a title while leafing through the first few pages indifferently. This was worse than usual!

"Anyway, we'd better get going, see if we can't redeem ourselves," Mary said. "I'll fetch today's assignments, be back in a sec!"

I analysed more of _The Daily_ 's articles while waiting. Each one was written above-par, but they weren't anything to praise. Some were at least a quarter true but many more were half-baked… Richard's article on the murder we'd investigated yesterday was on the front page. Their editor must have had the same idea. I read it over.

'Second Murder in Two Weeks: Is the Safest Bit of London Becoming the Most Dangerous?

'Trent Road, a rather quiet bit of the busy, bustling London City, has experienced not one, but now two murders. Victims' names are still not to be disclosed to the public at this time, but readers of our paper will know the first victim was a middle-aged man while the second was a young girl. Many suspect a family feud, others a serial killer. Yet what has taken place on this sleepy street is more terrifying than anyone could have guessed. Theories supported by various detective agencies state the man and girl were killed by an individual claiming to be Jack the Ripper. Is this new Jack a copycat of the old? A child of the original? Or something more?'

This wasn't the end of the article, but I couldn't possibly read on lest breakfast make a reappearance. What detective agency had supported this drivel? Certainly not Scotland Yard! This was just another ruse Richard used, ambiguous sources, to lure in his audience. Though it could hardly be called a ruse as that would suggest it was some well-thought out and clever plan. It wasn't.

Just then my mobile began to vibrate and I retrieved it from my pocket, happy to have someone distract me from the mind-numbing words I had regrettably read.

"Hello, Clive Dove speak—"

" _Dove…_ " a drawling voice interrupted.

My nose wrinkled as if I'd caught a whiff of the rubbish tip _The Daily_ 's paper belonged in. "Good morning, Richard," I answered, attempting to obscure my frustration behind a dignified tone.

"Seen my _article_ , have you…?"

Bugger… I may have had a talent for mostly keeping the emotion from my features, but my voice was a bit harder to tame.

"No, actually. I'm afraid I'm blind to—" I quickly cut myself off as an expletive nearly escaped me. _A gentleman never acts unbecoming in the presence of a formidable rival,_ the Professor would have said. Since travelling with him long ago, I always tried to incorporate some of the morals he had inspired in my everyday life, but…these were difficult to remember when speaking to Richard. At least I'd caught myself this time.

"What was that, _Dove…_?"

I forced a tight smile. "Yes, I did. Very well-written, Richard. Although, if I could give a bit of constructive criticism, I'd suggest you add a bit more _truth_ …"

"And _why_ would I _ever_ do that when the truth doesn't earn _subscribers_ …?"

My brow twitched in irritation. I said through grit teeth, "Because the truth of the events we encounter is more important than subscribers. And it is our duty as journalists to provide the truth to arm our citizens with knowledge, not feed their curiosity with fake stories!" My irritation began to bubble up until it was spilling out as blurted words. "Furthermore, there are ethics to journalism that we are meant to follow. We are to be accurate, fair and thorough amongst many other things you seem to have forgotten. Or weren't you ever taught them in the first place? Perhaps you should consider returning to university and renewing your degree. You don't seem to have learnt the basics…"

I listened for a comeback, cackling, anything, but heard nothing. After a moment of unusual silence on Richard's part, I looked to my phone and saw he'd hung up. How dare he when he was the one who initially rang?! I had half a mind to ring him again and repeat my rant, but shook my head to clear it of this idea. I didn't have time to tussle with him today. I looked to the folder I had snuck in, instantly feeling the pull of my childlike curiosity, the desire to shirk responsibility and uncover the secrets so close yet so far away. If I could pay attention long enough, I could finish the research Mary was expecting of me then continue to look over this mystery. With this in mind, I set to work.

But it became apparent to me while typing in my password that these mysteries would not be so easy to put aside for even a moment. As the desktop loaded, reflecting in my glasses, I looked up to see an image was covering the screen. One of a very familiar-looking numbered insect.

The first emotion I felt was an all-consuming excitement as my eyes flit across the lines and lines of numbers. But there was also a very tiny, yet prominent feeling of confusion and the questions that formed in the back of my mind soon came to the front—why had this appeared on my work computer? Had I brought some virus from home to this computer now? Was it affecting computers everywhere or had it chose only me to pester? I surreptitiously rolled my chair over to the side of my cubicle and poked my head out to glance round the office. Other reporters were hard at work. Some conducting phone interviews, others typing furiously. In any case, this proved the hypothesis I had begun to conjure: If everyone else was doing their jobs as usual, then I must be the only one who had received this image… Curiouser and curiouser…

As I returned to my desk, my eyes were instantly glued to the image again, but my ears were alerted to the sound of footfalls. They were drawing closer. When I finally became aware of this fact, I tore my attention from the puzzle and looked to see Mary was headed for my desk with my latest assignments. Adrenaline shot through me and I quickly minimised the insect puzzle and double-clicked my word processor program. I was about to sigh in relief, but before my word processor could load, the insect popped up from the taskbar without my involvement.

"Blimey!" I blurted in surprise upon seeing this. In the back of my mind I questioned what had caused the image to appear again but my fear Mary would see me faffing about outweighed my curiosity at this point and so I minimised it again. The cheeky thing popped up once more, however. It seemed as if it had a mind of its own and it was testing me, tempting me to solve the riddle while my boss drew ever nearer. Since I couldn't seem to make the thing go away, I quickly snatched up my notebook and a pen and turned my back on my computer screen, my leg bouncing with nervous energy.

"Alright!" Mary sang as she appeared around the corner. "Here's some more articles to start researching." She set a paper down on the side of my desk with a few titles. I glanced to it while tapping my pen against my notebook. _Community Project Set to Start in 2016, Schools Hosting Fundraiser With Biscuits and Tea, Book Signing at Black Books Bookstore._

"No murders this time, huh?" I said, giving her my most innocent smile yet.

What I received in return was a funny look. "Why do you seem so nervous all of a sudden?"

"Nervous?" My leg stopped bouncing. How had I already been found out? "Perhaps it's just the Earl Grey… I did have three cups this morning, after all."

She wasn't buying this excuse, though. She leaned over, trying to peer around me and I leaned in the same direction. She leaned the other way and so did I.

"What are you hiding?" she asked with a laugh as she (and I) tilted the other way again.

"Hiding? Nothing."

"Oh, come off it!" she started to lean the other way again, tricking me into following, then launched forward and pushed me away from my screen. I made some sort of strange noise in exclamation as I reached out with both hands to stop her, but it was already too late. She was staring at my computer screen, her joy melting to an unreadable expression.

"What is this?" she asked in a serious voice.

The jig was up now, I thought as my blood pumped cold with compunction through my veins. I supposed I might as well explain…

"My apologies, Mary. I meant to begin loading my programs but that appeared and I—"

"No wonder you couldn't start!" she suddenly exclaimed. "How adorable!"

I was surprised by this comment as I looked to my screen. The numbered insect was still there. What was adorable about that?

"Justine's grown up so much since I've last seen her," she continued. "You both look so lovely here. Anyway," she turned back to me, "wish I could look a bit longer, but I'd best let you get to work." With this, she turned and walked for her desk.

I blinked in wonder, watching after her as she left then stared at the screen once more. Still, the numbered insect remained. I minimised it and before it returned, caught a glance of my desktop. I had recently changed it to an image Justine had taken of the two of us with her new mobile, and based on what Mary had just said, she had seen this rather than the insect puzzle staring me in the face once more. It was almost as if she hadn't seen it at all… Was she winding me up, or…?

Deciding this was another mystery for another time, as I already had quite enough on my plate, I tried to set back to work. However, the numbered insect had other plans in mind, continuing to block off access to any other program. I was starting to get annoyed. Something about this action seemed to be mocking me, as if since I couldn't solve it last night before falling asleep it would now haunt me until I could. At this point I was becoming so vexed I was ready to exit out of it entirely, but of course that was against my curious nature. Perhaps I could print it for later, I thought as I right-clicked the image. The drop-down of options appeared and there was indeed an option to print.

"There, happy?" I muttered to the image as I retrieved the puzzle from the printer. As if to answer me the image disappeared of its own accord. I tilted my head upon seeing this. It really did seem to have a mind of its own... I felt compelled to question this as well, but again, this was another mystery for another time.

I stashed the puzzle away in my notebook then cautiously began typing on my word processor. When the image didn't appear after a few moments of typing, I grew certain it had finished with its mischief and, though I was occasionally distracted by the paper copy and all the new secrets open to me, I was able to finish quite a bit of research before break at eleven. During this time, I ducked out, ordered a sandwich and another two cups of Earl Grey, just to be safe, then returned as quickly as possible so I could continue researching while I ate. I had an hour. I looked over the sheet I had just printed and the numbers of the insect I had written down last night. They seemed the same for the most part… I knew I wouldn't have enough time to understand this mystery within the allotted hour, so I reluctantly put it away for later tonight and began searching through the folder for more information on the Guardian Scroll. At first I found nothing but more artefacts with no relation to the Scroll. Just more information on supposed pottery from thousands of years ago, bones, scraps of armour, and more pottery. I was quickly reaching the end of the pages. Surely there had to be more on that Scroll!

That's when I happened upon it. As I lifted the last page, all hope draining away to what I was sure was another dead end, I revealed a dusty, leather-bound journal lying in wait at the very back. I hesitated but a second before snatching the old thing up, scrutinising it like a detective to blood spatter. I had searched for about forty-five minutes so I didn't have much time to look it over, but I couldn't help myself. I simply had to peek…

Upon opening the cover, the thing groaned, its binding snapping as if it'd not been opened for quite some time. The pages, too, were aged—yellowed, crinkled and creased with time. At the top of the first page I read the date of a year. 1967. Around then, eh…? I scanned the page.

 _14 Dec 1967_

 __'This is my first real adventure as an archaeologist. I still have quite a lot of progress to make before I can research the very theories that led me to pursue this career, but I have a very strong sense I will discover more along the way. That being, angel, whatever it was, I hadn't imagined it. Surely the Scroll it had left behind was meant to be discovered and researched. Whether it was meant for me personally, I'm still unsure, but even so, I will do my best to educate myself on what I'd seen and learn what it was escaping from.'__

From this entry alone, I could logically assume this was Mr Tysan's journal and that he had used it on his archaeological digs. Part of me felt guilty for having it. It was far too old and dejected to be of use to the man, but perhaps he didn't want me snooping in it? But another part of me felt like doing anything in my power to keep it. At least for now. Already on page one it had talked of some sort of being. Whether that was meant to be taken literally, metaphorically or otherwise, I was already hooked. What mysteries the old book held… I could only imagine.

The alarm on my mobile began to trill, breaking through my thoughts, announcing lunch was over. Time to get back to work. I reluctantly closed the journal's cover. I'd research more about it tonight, I promised, then recalled I also had the newest addition to that numbered insect puzzle to think about as well as rewriting an article as well as setting interviews for future articles… I very well might be spending another night at my desk…

Finally, five o'clock arrived. The day was over and I couldn't be happier. Not only was I ready for an entire kettle of Earl Grey, but I was eager to return home and continue searching through this journal. I was so eager, in fact, that my guilt at prying in Mr Tysan's personal business had completely dissipated. And let's not forget the new addition to that insect puzzle, I reminded myself. My eyes shimmered as I took a peek at the folder. There were all sorts of secrets lying in wait for me! I felt not unlike a CSI investigating dusted prints.

I practically ran home, speeding so fast down the pavement I believe I'd passed the taxi I'd taken earlier that morning. Once inside, I made myself a large cup of Earl Grey and used this to justify the time spent looking over the insect puzzles rather than writing articles. Again, the pattern of numbers I had seen before began to appear before my eyes. 1s, 2s, 3s, 5s, 8s… I had wondered before why they skipped as they did. Why 3 to 5 and not 4? And where were 6 and 7 between 5 and 8? Perhaps this newest copy would aid me in finding a solution. I turned my attention to the copy, comparing it to the one I'd written down. The only difference between the two was the one I'd printed contained forward slashes and full stops. Like sentences…

Just when I'd begun to work out a potential solution I'd not considered before, my mobile began to vibrate, breaking my concentration. I ruffled my hair with impatience. If this was Richard again, I swore I would—

"Hey, Dad," Justine greeted to my surprise.

My mood instantly lightened. "Oh, hello, Justine." I took a look around and realised I'd not seen her in the house. She certainly wasn't at the table where she normally sat. "Staying after school late today?" I asked. I felt a bit grimy as I hadn't even noticed she wasn't home until this call, but now that I was aware, I was asking out of concern.

"Kind of. I'm thinking of hanging out for a bit."

"Alright," I said, turning in my chair as I thought of a plan to figure out who she was going out with. "When do you plan on returning home?"

"Around supper. Six or so. You can eat without me. We'll probably head to a restaurant or something."

I picked up my mug and took a sip. "And where will you be before that?"

"Probably at Fayne's house."

I almost spit out my tea for the second time that day.

"F-Fayne? Why?"

"Uh, because we've not hung out in a while?"

"You have done! Yesterday!"

"Okay, but, Dad, _you_ were there…"

Ouch. I think that's the fifth time I've nearly been killed today… I suppose I couldn't be upset about this. She was a teenager after all, and I do recall being embarrassed by some of the things my adoptive mother did when I was near Justine's age. Besides, I had bigger problems to worry about than my daughter not appreciating me as much as I'd wished. She was headed over to… _his_ house.

"W-Will anyone be home?"

"His dad's out, I think researching, and his mum's running some errands."

This single sentence traced goose pimples up my arms. So they'd be alone… That wasn't all bad, considering I was suspicious of Mrs and Mr Tysan at the moment, but, even so, think of all the dangerous things Justine and Fayne could get into by themselves! Instantly, my mind filed through plot after plot to ensuring my daughter's safety. I could go spy on her, but… I glanced to the journal and the Scroll and all my articles I still had yet to do. I'd miss out on valuable time…

Or, I thought as those old cunning cogs began turning in my head. They seemed to have become more active of late… I could spend time researching _and_ spying. My job was important, yes, but this was Justine, my little girl! I couldn't let things get out of hand…

"Alright," I said, unable to keep the determined smile from my lips. It was settled then. "You have fun."

"See ya, Dad."

"Goodbye, Just."

I stood from my chair, picking up my notes on the numbered insect and Mr Tysan's journal then left for the entryway I'd just entered. I felt I was finally progressing in my mysteries. Though I'd be keeping an eye on my daughter, I _would_ discover more about that Scroll, those scraps from the killings and that insect puzzle…

And so help me, if a certain teenage womaniser dare broke my concentration by hurting my daughter, I'd be cracking more than just a puzzle tonight…


	5. Chapter 4

Only half an hour had elapsed since I'd returned home from work but already I was leaving again. After slipping on my Oxfords I took the three stone steps out my door in twos and clacked down the pavement, determined to arrive at the Tysan's as soon as possible. A cool spring breeze swept through my hair in my haste, bringing with it the occasional scent of budding flora or blossoming sapling within the heavy, ever-present mixture of grilled foods, vehicle exhaust, petrol and an abundance of other city odours. I looked to the sky. Twilight was settling as the dying sun hung on the horizon, dousing the clouds crimson-violet as they embraced a hazy moon reviving behind a curtain of London fog.

Though it was growing darker as I strode along, the streets stayed brilliantly lit with countless lights I couldn't help but be mesmerised by on the rare occasion I travelled at night (or, when Mary rang, very early in the morning). It wasn't so much the streetlamps I was engrossed with but more the variety of signs and outdoor telly screens. Everywhere I looked some piece of technology attempted to draw my attention to one thing or another. Pubs featuring one-of-a-kind brews, restaurants proclaiming rave reviews, supermarkets with supposedly the lowest prices, meals as the special for today, clothes for sale, merchandise one apparently couldn't hope to find anywhere else. Certainly a sight during the day, but in the later hours each and every sign or screen was too dazzlingly bright to not catch my eye, whether I'd be buying or not. Such a futuristic version of London… I could have never dreamt it, never even planned its creation myself. And it had passed right by me after all these years…

I looked away, forcing back the thoughts of my past that had begun to rise from the darker corners of my mind. Enough on that. I wasn't a tourist, I needn't be this distracted by a city I'd lived in all my life. Especially not when I had two important missions on my mind. My fingers inadvertently clutched the dossier in my right hand. Within it had once been stacks upon stacks of papers, so much so the binding of the thing was warped beyond repair. Now only one page out of the thousands remained: a document on the Scroll of the Guardians.

This single document was the only one useful to me but my lengthy search had not been in vain. I'd found Mr Tysan's journal on his archaeological adventures at the very bottom of the stacks. After tearing my attention from the leather-bound book, I'd returned it to the folder alongside two insect puzzles—one from my home computer, the other from work—for safekeeping during the travel. The puzzles were more for personal enjoyment, but the journal and the document on the Scroll related to the murder case I'd been investigating lately. I was sure nothing to do with the murders would happen at the Tysan house tonight as, again, I'd not placed much weight on the idea the Tysan's were involved. But the possibility was there and I was far too knowledgeable on the subjects of death and deception to dismiss it. Not until I had clear, conclusive evidence to prove otherwise. This would be one of my tasks when I arrived at the house. To uncover additional information about these various mysteries.

My second task, though, was what had brought me out on this journey in the first place. Spying… If what Justine had told me over the phone was true, Fayne's mother and father would not be home. Therefore, she was currently at their house… _alone_ _with Fayne_. A worried groan seeped from between my clenched teeth. I may be much older now, but I knew how dangerous teenagers could be when left to their own devices! Back in secondary school I'd observed rather than engaged in the activities my peers did. I finished my homework on time while they frequented pubs with mates and drank all night. I attended class while they snuck off to snog one another. I took notes while they went out for a smoke…amongst many other adolescent mischiefs that could hardly be considered (and sometimes weren't) legal. All these things and more Justine and Fayne could get into if I wasn't there to stop them!

I approached the Tysan's as my thoughts began to reel.

What if Fayne offered cigarettes to Justine? I thought I'd caught a whiff of smoke off him yesterday…

I snuck up the driveway.

Even worse, what if he tricked Justine into sampling drugs…? Got her addicted? Made her unaware of her own actions?

I flattened my back against the wall of the house, noticing a thudding coming from within. My heart began to drum along with it.

What if he bought alcohol? They were the legal age to drink but Justine hadn't started and Fayne's only intentions in offering would be to make her even less aware of her actions…

I slunk up to the window, the noises growing louder, my heart hammering faster.

And what if all this led up to him coaxing her into his bedroom…so he could…

My eyes wide with terror, I slowly peeked in…

So he could…!

And what I saw before me were Justine and Fayne… I blinked rapidly in surprise. They were sitting on couches…opposite one another…playing a rather colourful (and loud) video game of sorts…

I ducked down under the window, breathing a sigh of relief while wiping the sweat from my forehead. Thank goodness they weren't doing much of anything at all! But… My brow furrowed, my fear renewed. That certainly didn't mean they couldn't start… If I was to get anything done tonight while also keeping my daughter safe, I'd have to split my concentration between her and these mysteries.

With this promise in mind, I focused all my attention one last time on the muffled, thrumming beat of video game music and the occasional talking and laughter inside, being sure I hadn't missed any warning signs already, before I set to work.

I retrieved Mr Tysan's journal from the folder I had set down at my side. Opening the cover, its binding snapped and groaned as if it wished to keep its secrets hidden. This only whet my persistence to uncover the answers I sought. I had already read the first page at work, but I was helplessly drawn to it again, like a good book I had decided to reread.

 _14 Dec 1967_

 _'This is my first real adventure as an archaeologist. I still have quite a lot of progress to make before I can research the very theories that led me to pursue this career, but I have a very strong sense I will discover more along the way. That being, angel, whatever it was, I hadn't imagined it. Surely the Scroll it left behind was meant to be discovered and researched. Whether it was meant for me personally, I'm still unsure, but even so, I will do my best to educate myself on what I'd seen and learn what it was escaping from.'_

Though it had only been a few hours since I'd even discovered the existence of this journal, reading those words through again felt like revisiting an old friend. They were familiar to me, but what sorts of adventures they'd been on, what they had in store to tell me, that's what truly gripped my attention.

 _WUMP!_

I started upon hearing the sudden racket from within the house and before I knew my legs were moving I was sat up on my knees peering inside the window with a scowl of angry concern. What was Fayne doing to my daughter?! If I saw _anything_ strange—

But what met my eyes was Justine sniggering while sat awkwardly on the floor. I blinked. Must have slipped or something. She wasn't exactly the most graceful human on earth… I was relieved knowing at least this had nothing to do with Fayne, but just as the sensation surfaced I noticed him standing off to the side, doubled-up in mirth. I gripped the wooden windowsill tight. How uncouth he was to laugh at a lady when she had fallen down! I about ran in just then to teach the lad a lesson, but there seemed to be no point as Justine was already getting to her feet and the two were soon playing video games once more.

Defeated, I huddled back under the window, sulking. I guess I couldn't be too upset. Even if he had offered her a hand, it probably would have been a ruse. I knew how it looked, pretending to be a gentleman to fulfil a goal…and I sensed Fayne knew this as well. Before dismissing the situation I cast one final glare at the bricks behind me, knowing Fayne was just on the other side, then with a disdainful sniff I turned back to the journal.

 _15 Dec 1967_

 _'I can't take it. My thoughts are anywhere but where they need to be. I am currently standing in the lab, examining a piece of artefact I found on today's excavation, or at least trying… Though this was my first dig I can't seem to pay attention to the mysterious object before me as I'm too engrossed in another mysterious item, one from my childhood: that Scroll. But I suppose it was because this was my first dig my mind is filled with memories of that time. This is my reason for taking up the pen. Perhaps if I write out these memories, organise them, I'll be released from their hold. Many of them were of when I'd seen that being, the Scroll it had left behind, the many theories I had spent much of my adolescence scrawling out on—'_

 _THUD!_

Again my legs moved faster than my brain and I was peering into the window before I'd even registered the noise. I expected to see Fayne pinning Justine to the floor but instead he was seated on the couch a good distance away while Justine was clenching a fist on the floor, staring up at the telly plastered with a large 'Game Over'. It was alright, I assured myself. It was only Justine… The adrenaline rushing through my veins made it difficult to calmly seat myself once more but when I finally managed a comfortable cross-legged position, I was quickly back to reading.

 _'Many of them were of when I'd seen that being, the Scroll it had left behind, the many theories I had spent much of my adolescence scrawling out on paper after paper. Back then, I'd been just a lad, wondering what I'd be when I was older. Every adult had asked me and I'd never had an answer. I thought maybe this was a stage everyone went through, a phase that would come to pass and soon I could proudly declare the career I would pursue as an adult. But come secondary school I still didn't know…until I found the Scroll the being had left behind._

 _'Though I had seen only a tiny flash of this being flying away, it was magnificent, like spotting a shooting star amongst all the lights of London. I had been playing outside in the evening and knew Mother would call me in for tea soon, but I couldn't help myself. I intended to follow after what I'd seen to be sure it was real. I set off in the direction the being had flown, trekking for upwards of thirty minutes across London's darkening streets. I remember experiencing a strange pulsing in my chest, a feeling of anxiety, but also excitement that I was drawing closer to a destination I had never been to. I carried onward, the feeling growing stronger until I felt dizzy with it. Dizzy enough to stop a moment in order to catch my breath._

 _'The moment I straightened, however, I saw the landscape around me had changed. Completely. No more city lights. No more buildings. Just flat, sandy terrain as far as I could see. I would have panicked, but the moment I felt the tears spring to my eyes, I spotted the Scroll only metres away, lying there on the ground, waiting for me to draw near. My fear was instantly replaced with wonderment._

 _'I remember approaching slowly as if sneaking up on an alerted deer, afraid it might disappear if I moved too quickly. Once I made my way over I stooped down to the Scroll and took it gently in my hands. I didn't open it right away as all I could do was stare at its furled state, wondering what I had stumbled upon, whether just touching it would take me on an adventure to some faraway land like I'd seen in films. Then I remembered, I was already in some faraway land. If just finding the Scroll led me here, what would opening it do? I finally took the ancient end of the parchment between quivering fingers and pulled. And what I saw before me were—'_

 _"GRAAAA!"_

I nearly jumped out of my skin, dropping the journal in the process. I had expected to see Justine writhing in pain as I shot up and stared wide-eyed through the window. But again I found I was wrong. The shrieking had come from a large dragon-like monster flailing about on the telly screen. She was fighting a boss, her fingers dancing so rapidly on the controller I was afraid the thing might burst into flames. Fayne was standing at her side, cheering her on by pumping his fists. At least his hands weren't anywhere they shouldn't be… A withering look crept onto my features. For once…

I sighed as I nestled under the window once more, retrieving the journal from where it had landed on the ground. Perhaps since Fayne seemed to be behaving himself I'd focus more on my investigation than what he could be doing to my daughter. Of course my fatherly instincts didn't like this idea much at all, but I promised I wouldn't turn my full attention on the journal. Only enough to stop jumping at every noise I heard…

With this in mind, I opened the leather-bound book and continued where I'd left off.

' _I finally took the ancient end of the parchment between quivering fingers and pulled. And what I saw before me were both numbers and letters arranged as though they were forming words and sentences. Like a language. One I'd never seen before. Needless to say, I could make neither head nor tail of it, but this unknown was certainly not unexpected nor was it bad. In fact, I felt giddy with excitement. I remember running inside, dashing up to my bedroom and locking my door tight before realising I'd been somewhere completely different. I checked out the window to see I really was back home, in London with all the traffic, buildings and lights. How? I wondered. Had it all been a dream? I turned back to the Scroll. It couldn't have been. The Scroll was here with me. Truly, what had I stumbled upon?_

 _'Unfurling the Scroll once more, my eyes flit over every number, every letter to theorise what it could possibly mean. I hadn't noticed until this moment that within the mixture were seven insignias, each with their own symbol and colour. Blood, an hourglass, a book, a set of scales… Were these some sort of powers this being had, I wondered at the time. Maybe I could search out these symbols…find that being once more… This single desire—to uncover the secrets of all I had found that day—had finally given me a purpose. I knew then I wanted to become an archaeologist._

 _'I surface from these thoughts, my desire to continue theorising renewed. I did eventually return to working on the artefact I'd found today, but the back of my mind is constantly grinding away at a question I've asked for decades: when will I find that being and its powers?'_

I paused for a moment, repeating this last word in my mind. Powers… The document on the Guardian Scroll had said something similar. I turned my attention to the folder and retrieved the page, refreshing myself of its contents.

 _'_ _Scroll of the Guardians_ _._

 _Not much is known of the letters and numbers printed on this Scroll but the circles within are theorised to represent a set of powers. These were dubbed Universal Powers as their symbols seem to represent elements needed in order for humanity to not only survive, but thrive as a race._ _'_

Universal Powers. That's what the document had called them. I was still a bit sceptical of the existence of this being and these powers, but either way, I thought as my curiosity turned grave, it had to do with the murders. The scraps of paper left on those bodies were stamped with the hourglass symbol, same as the one from the Scroll. I stole into my pocket and retrieved the scrap I'd copied down. While eyeing the hourglass I pondered why the two coincided. What did this Scroll found long ago by Mr Tysan have to do with these recent murder victims? Were the fellow and the young girl killed because they knew of these so-called powers? Because they knew too much?

My features tightened as a vital possibility suddenly came to mind, one I'd not yet considered. Perhaps the culprit, whoever it was, was planning to kill another person and there was a pattern involving these symbols I wasn't seeing. In an instant several possibilities came to mind. Perhaps the direction the hourglass faced pointed a certain way? No… According to Inspector Brown, they'd all been found straight up and down and were face-down on the chest of their respective victim. Maybe that was it? The chest…the heart…maybe the symbols had to do with the heart…? No, this line of questioning didn't seem to be leading me anywhere… What had the victims had in common? Both had suffered no internal or external injuries… Certainly strange, but not helpful in determining who the killer might target next…

I scratched my head in frustration. What could it all mean? How could I save the next victim? But I knew I'd have to concede defeat. Again, I didn't have all the evidence to come to a solid conclusion and vexing about it would do me nor any future victims any good. Staying calm and searching as I was doing now. That's what would solve this case.

Without hesitation, I delved back into the journal, eager to know what Mr Tysan had found out on the Scroll. Maybe this would be what pointed me in the right direction to resolving these murders.

 _3 March 1968_

' _Quite a bit of time has passed since my last entry. Every artefact I've found since my first dig has not been worth documenting as they all pale in comparison to the Scroll I still search answers for every day. Today, however, I feel as if that's about to change._

 _'I was scheduled to analyse an artefact already uncovered, but the moment I arrived at the lab, I was told I would be attending another dig. Some sort of protocol from some higher-ups. I didn't bother questioning it. The more digs I went on, the closer I came to finding that being again. It was this change in schedule that seemed to resonate with me, as if I was headed in some right direction. And this feeling was one I'd felt before. When I'd first discovered the Scroll. I don't know how to explain this intuition, why it happens, but since it led me to the Scroll in my youth, perhaps it would lead me to what I've been theorising this entire time: The powers. At present, I'm heading for the site. My next entry, fate willing, will document my finds on the powers.'_

 _'I'm currently at the designated site and my intuition has grown stronger, fuelling my enthusiasm to begin the search. I was stopped in my tracks, however, when I spotted a bloke already here. He wouldn't give out his name, which I found suspicious as anyone would, but when I pressed him, he merely informed me he was here on special orders. From who? The higher-ups I'd been told of back at the lab? He didn't appear to be an archaeologist. More a scientist.'_

A scientist…? I stopped short to ponder this bit. Certainly it couldn't be who first came to mind…? An old, almost long lost fire began to burn deep in my guts as a memory stole into my thoughts. One I wished I could bury forever… He was the one behind the explosion. The one who killed my parents. The one who had obscured the incident… All this for fame, money and power…!

I felt the urge to continue brooding on the matter, on my desires, my actions, the fury that had overthrown my judgement, the raw regret after all was said and done…but quickly forced myself back to reality. The past was the past. After all these years hadn't I learnt that yet…? Eager to leave these thoughts behind, I quickly returned to the journal.

 _'But no matter his profession, he was as insistent as I was to begin digging. I shrugged off my suspicion. Anyone this excited to uncover an artefact was a friend of mine. And so, we began.'_

 _'We dug for several hours, that man and I. But to no avail. We'd found not a single trace of any artefact and I was beginning to get discouraged. Was this intuition, this intense feeling of finally finding an answer wrong? How could it be when I'd found the Scroll? Maybe I was digging at a wrong time? I supposed it was fair. I was far too exhausted to continue on tonight anyway._

 _'Packing up, I suggested to the man we head home. But despite the time and our efforts already expended, he persisted. And in the end I must thank him. Without his endurance we would have never stumbled upon the answers I had sought since my childhood._

 _'To explain what happened next…it was just like back then. I felt dizzy, shaky. I can only describe it as though I had travelled through time.'_

Travelled through time… I repeated silently. This didn't help my thoughts of the past stay where they were meant as two instances on this very subject came to mind. The first was of when I'd travelled with Professor Layton during a rather murky bit of my life. The second was of a thought I'd had not minutes ago…my parents' deaths. I hastily willed the memory away again before it had a chance to rear its repulsive head, though I couldn't help thinking my past and Mr Tysan's seemed to be converging a bit too much… I was afraid I'd soon be reading about…a certain incident…but I steeled myself, quickly dismissing this as mere speculation. At least this helped ward off the dread squirming in my guts…

 _'One moment we were digging, the next we were attempting to stay on our feet as an unknown and unseen force compelled us forward. When we finally stopped moving, I put a hand to my head feeling rather ill. I looked about to see where we had ended up and saw before me an orb perched on a pedestal. In that moment my nausea melted away to ecstasy. I knew I'd found them. The powers. I could hardly believe my eyes, even now. I blinked in awe and soon realised we'd found not one orb, but two. The first has the symbol of a set of scales, the other with an hourglass. There appears to be something wrong with this last one as though it was cracked or damaged in some way, but I can hardly care. At last, I have discovered what I've chased after since I was a lad.'_

I turned the page and found the next entry was written in an uneven, shaking scrawl. The words were faint as if Mr Tysan could hardly put pen to paper. I imagined this was because, like the Professor, he wrote his journal entries while still experiencing the very event he was writing on and was too in awe to pay much mind to his penmanship.

But as I continued on, I realised this was not the case. In fact, it was the complete opposite.

 _'_ _I write this entry on my knees. Defeated. I was caught in such a stupor I could do nothing but watch the orbs before me when I suddenly saw a flash of white. I think it might have been the man I was with. His lab coat. I don't know. Whatever it was, it had unleashed an agonising flash of light so glaringly bright I had to turn away just to avoid being blinded. Within this time, I heard nothing, saw nothing. When I opened my eyes, my sights adjusted and I turned around. Still, I saw nothing. I had not gone blind, but I wish I had. The orbs of power I sought for so long are gone. The man who was with me is also gone. What had happened to him? I can't say I care. Those orbs that being had led me towards. My life's work, my very reason for living. Gone._ _'_

I took the bulk of pages towards the end of the journal and flipped through them. I was glad to find there were more entries, but I stopped for a moment to ponder what I'd just read. What had happened with Mr Tysan and that man who had accompanied him? What were those orbs? Were they actually powers?

I planned to read the next entries, about turning the page, until I realised for the past few minutes I'd been sat here I hadn't heard any noise come from within the house. I supposed that was good as it meant I didn't have to inspect as much activity…but then…perhaps no noise meant I should be inspecting even more…

With my suspicion and worry reinforced, I rose just a bit on my knees, peered in through the window…and a noise between a gasp and a grunt of horror escaped me. I knew it! I _knew_ I should have minded those two! They had stopped playing video games and were now watching a film. Sitting close on the couch. In the dark. _With Fayne's arm around my daughter!_

I was on my feet and legging it so fast for the door I'd not realised how strange it would look when I burst through into the house. The moment I did, I came to my senses, but it was already too late. Breathing hard, I looked to see Fayne quickly pause the video and flip on the light and Justine's initial surprise at my appearance melt to a withering look as she shook her head.

"Ayup, Miste' Dove…" Fayne greeted with a confused smile as he tentatively returned to the couch. I noticed he had distanced himself from Justine. Smart choice on his part…

"Dad…" The disdainful look I was giving Fayne became questioning as I turned to Justine. If her warning tone wasn't enough to clue me in to how she felt about this situation, her expression and body language said it all. She seemed amused, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes which I could have sworn were shimmering with an angry spark in their dark depths. Her arms were crossed, her left hand clutching tight at her right arm as if trying to hold it back from slashing me to pieces. "What are you doing here?"

I blinked. I was suddenly aware my only explanation for breaking and entering pertained to separating the two and that this would without a doubt incite a heated debate. So, in other words, I didn't have an explanation…

"Uhh…" I uttered pathetically. When I was younger and especially during that more…darker bit of my past I strategized well in advance for any situation that might become an obstacle in any plan. This preparation had been so engrained in my actions that now I wasn't involved in this level of scheming, I surprised myself when I didn't already have plans A through Z in place. I glanced around the house spotting the sandy-brown walls now devoid of artefacts and the boxes near the front door which seemed to have multiplied since yesterday, but neither of these things could help formulate a suitable explanation. My eyes shot desperately to the folder and journal clutched tight in my grasp and I blurted, "I have a few questions for Fayne…" This hadn't been my original intention of course but as I actually put thought to the words, it didn't seem a bad idea to ask Fayne about some of what I'd read. Perhaps he and his father had discussed the journal at some point and I could unearth more leads for this mystery. "Would you mind if I conducted a second informal interview with you?"

Fayne instantly beamed at me. However…for some strange reason, upon seeing the grin I couldn't help feeling as if someone wanted me dead… Could this foreboding have something to do with the murders…?

That's when I glanced to Justine. The spark in her eyes had now erupted into a full-blown blaze. Nope, nothing about the murders. Just a father's intuition detecting his daughter's anger towards him…possibly also his own impending death at her hand…

"That's why you bust in practically scaring us to death?" Justine asked, incredulous. "To do an informal interview? You seem rather anxious if that's all it is!"

Blimey, she was observant… But certainly a little scare didn't warrant the anger I practically felt exuding from her…?

"It'll only take a moment," I assured, sidestepping her demand for an explanation.

"That doesn't answer my question."

My features instantly tightened upon hearing this retort. Her challenging my authority was starting to get frustrating.

"Justine…" I warned, meeting her defiant gaze evenly. After a moment, the fire in her eyes extinguished and she glanced off to the side, crossing her arms a bit tighter while muttering, "Well it doesn't…" I could see, though she was unwilling to admit it, she felt compunction for her disrespect. I allowed my expression to soften. "It'll only take a moment, I promise. Then you two can return to watching your film." While I keep watch outside…

"All righ', Miste' Dove," Fayne prompted, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. The brief tension between Justine and I must have been getting to him. "Wa' did yea wanna ask?"

Instantly my journalist reflexes kicked in. I retrieved my emergency notepad from my back trouser pocket and, without asking permission, seated myself in a comfy recliner across from Fayne. Leaning forward, notepad on one knee and pen at the ready, I lifted Mr Tysan's journal into view. "This journal. When I visited your mother yesterday, I found this in the folder she'd handed me. It's your father's."

One of Fayne's eyebrows rose a bit higher than the other and I gathered from that single expression alone he didn't know what this journal held inside. I'd been hoping this wasn't the case, but in the end, it was quite understandable. The journal had been concealed and covered in dust. It hadn't seen the light of day for quite a while, possibly even before Fayne was born. Mr Tysan had kept it hidden away…and now that I thought on it I wondered why. The entries seemed to be of significance to him and the very reason he worked as an archaeologist.

"Ah think me Dad mi' 'ave mentioned tha' journal," Fayne responded, breaking through my thoughts, "bu' 'e neveh really talked abou' wha' 'e wro'e. Is it abou' 'is research or summat?"

I quickly jotted this response down then responded myself. "Yes, it is. Some rather important research in fact. About the Scroll."

I saw Fayne's eyes light up. Curious… When I'd mentioned the Scroll yesterday he'd fallen quiet. Today he seemed rather excited to discuss it. What had caused this change, and in such a short amount of time? I made a note of this as well.

"Ah asked 'im abou' it when 'e finehlly came 'ome las' nigh'. 'E seemed surprised tha' me mam had shown yea, bu' anyway… It's one of 'is oldest and mos' special finds, 'e said! And tha's why 'e became an archaeologist, was because of th' Scroll. 'E also talked abou'…"

Though Fayne's voice continued to meet my ears, what the boy was saying—something about his father's achievements outside of his archaeological finds—I no longer registered. Instead I jotted down my thoughts, both about what he had said and what he had expressed while speaking. His first few sentences about his father finally coming home and the mention of his mother…the way his voice had trailed off, his eyes glanced away. He had been tense, expressing both irritation and worry. Yesterday when I'd conducted my first informal interview with him, he'd seemed stressed about his father being out. Now he was irritated when he had returned… Did these emotions hint at anything involving the murder? I finished up my notes, ending them with this rather ominous unanswered question, and looked up at Fayne, ready to ask my next question. The lad, however, was still on about his father.

"…and 'e go' anothe' degree for maths, bu' 'e doesn' use tha' too much. Anyway, 'e's incre'ibly strong, too. I once saw 'im bench—"

"In any case…" I threw out to get him back on track, shooting him a glance overtop the rim of my glasses. "About the topic at hand?"

"Oh yeah! 'Ere!" Fayne said. He suddenly stood and disappeared behind the wall that separated the living room and the dining room where I'd interviewed Mrs Tysan. I heard some distant rustling then he reappeared with the Guardian Scroll in hand. "So this is wha' it looks like if yeh didn' get t' see it." Fayne began as he seated himself. "Dad 'ad it 'idden away fo' sum reason…" He unfurled the Scroll and turning it to face me. Again, the details of the ancient parchment gripped me. The unknown language, the circled symbols, the hourglass that coincided with the murders… "These circles are supposed t' be powers. I'm no' sure wha' powers. Dad 'asn't found out yet even afte' all these years. Bu' Ah guess 'e theorised they were protected by a Gua'dian of some sor' and one of those powe's was being threatened so tha' Gua'dian 'id it. Dad thinks 'e saw this firs' hand, saw it runnin' away from wha'ever was threatenin' it. Wicked, yeah?"

Threatened… I pondered. Again, I found I didn't really believe what Mr Tysan had supposedly theorised about this Guardian and these powers but I toyed with the idea anyway. Say hypothetically these did exist. What could have threatened them? I opened the journal and flipped through a few pages until I found what I was looking for.

 _'Though I had seen only a tiny flash of this being flying away, it had been magnificent…'_

He had seen this being fly away and according to Fayne's account on what his father had told him, this was when one of these several powers was threatened. What if, perhaps, they had been threatened a second time? When he and that scientist had found those two orbs? I flipped a few more pages.

 _'I was caught in such a stupor I could do nothing but watch the orbs before me when I suddenly saw a flash of white. I think it might have been the man I was with. His lab coat. I don't know. Whatever it was, it had unleashed an agonising flash of light so glaringly bright I had to turn away just to avoid being blinded.'_

Then a bit further down the page:

 _'_ _The orbs of power I had sought for so long are gone. The man who was with me is also gone. What had happened to him?_ _'_

Once they had discovered these orbs, Mr Tysan wrote how he'd seen a flash of white, like the scientist's coat then he and the orbs had disappeared. Could that scientist have been the second threat? I looked up from the journal back to Fayne.

"In this journal your father talks about a scientist who had excavated with him when he'd finally located these so-called powers. Has he ever spoken to you about this man?"

Fayne thought on this a moment then shook his head. "No, no' tha' Ah can recall."

I decided this was something I would have to address when I met with Mr Tysan personally to interview him. I still had yet to do so for my article regarding archaeology. It was coming due soon so perhaps I could kill two birds with one stone. And learn about a murder at the same time…

"Oh, wai' a minu', Miste' Dove," Fayne said. I looked to see him eyeing the journal intently. "Ah think Ah do remembe' Dad talkin' abou' this journal once."

"What's made you recall?" I asked, curious.

"Somethin' Dad told me abou' a while ago. 'e didn' really wanna talk abou' it, bu' when he was…packin' the journal up 'e mentioned 'e qui' wri'in' in it because of some big problem London was 'aving. Somethin' abou' destruction. 'e was so shaken abou' the incident 'e couldn' write in it afterwards. Tha's why 'e doesn' take it along on digs anymore. 'Ere." He held out a hand and after hesitating but a moment I placed the leather-bound book in his palm. I didn't want to admit it, but as the boy leafed through some of the journal's entries to about the middle a growing unease was stirring in my chest. Something that had caused Mr Tysan to quit writing? Something about destruction…a destruction so big, so traumatising he couldn't return to writing in it…?

"'Ere it is!" Fayne's jovial tone clashed with the dread now mounting within me. "It's grea' yea li'erally burs' in, Miste' Dove! I've been waitin' foreve' t' figure awt wha' 'appened. Now, le's see…" He cleared his throat and despite my senses crying out for me to stop the lad, I allowed him to read the entry. Certainly it couldn't be… 'Wha' a sigh' it was, th' machine. It towe'ed ova' all'a London and before Ah even knew wha' was happenin', one of its gian' spiked appen'ages smashed int' th' ci'y, effectiveleh decimatin' an entireh stree' of ci'izens. Ah fel' the shake of th' vereh earth beneath me fee', then th' shockwave of th' impact truleh 'it me and Ah was lying on the groun', cowerin' in fear agains' th' almigh'y thing. From whence it 'ad come…it 'ad been so fast Ah didn' know. Bu' if Ah 'ad a guess, it would'a emerged from 'ades itself for such was th' destruction it left in its path. Firs' the powers. Now this…'"

After Fayne finished this entry, I could do nothing but stand there as that very moment ripped through me like that machine had ripped through London. The stench of gunpowder. Whole buildings collapsed in heaps of rubble for miles and miles, the screams of those suffering…fire, smoke, blood…the burning inferno of revenge then the gelid shock of regret…

"…Dove…?"

The sound of my name shook me from the nightmarish visions and as I surfaced I knew my fear was too obvious in my wide eyes, my furrowed brow, my figure which had begun to quiver. I quickly composed myself, drawing my features in an even and unreadable expression.

"Yes…?" I said quickly, my voice escaping in a ragged enquiry.

"Oh, yea kin'a blanked awt. Ah was jus' sayin' tha' mus'a been realleh frightenin' t' see tha'. Were yea there too?"

I swallowed hard. "Y-Yes…" That was all I could utter, my heart hammering, blood roaring in my ears. It was easy to obscure my emotions on the outside, but the same could not be done for the inside…

"Funneh… Ah don' remembeh learnin' abou' tha' in 'istory…"

My jaw clenched.

"Yes…well…thank you for your time, Fayne… I think that will conclude my interview…until I can speak with your father."

In an effort to return to the present, I hastily willed the traces of my lingering past away from my mind and, afraid she might have heard, looked to Justine. She had been rather quiet during this conversation. After what I'd just experienced I hoped she wasn't still upset with me but it didn't seem I would be so fortunate. She was holding a hand to her head, her eyebrows knit in frustration. She stood up just then, flicking her purple-dyed bangs out of her face in an effort to appear as if nothing was out of the ordinary then walked for the door.

"I'm going home…" she uttered to me. She turned to Fayne. "See you at school tomorrow…"

Fayne made to get up while saying, "Ah'll walk yea—" but cut himself off mid-rise as he glanced to me. When he saw me cross my arms, an eyebrow raised challengingly, he quickly seated himself once more and rethought his goodbye. "S-See ya!"

The moment Justine stepped out, I felt anxious to clear up any misunderstandings. So having obtained my information from Fayne, which had, in the end, turned out to be at least somewhat useful in my search despite crossing paths with my past, I got to my feet and followed after her, bidding Fayne a hasty farewell as I closed the door behind me.

While catching up with Justine, I pondered on why she might have left so brusquely, putting myself in her shoes for a moment. I was spending time with a friend until my adoptive parent burst in through the door… Hmm… I couldn't understand it. If I was still Justine's age and my adoptive mother had disrupted my time with a friend, I would have welcomed the extra company. It wasn't just any extra company, after all. It was someone who had taken me in when I'd lost my parents. Someone more precious to me than any friend. Perhaps it was a generational matter…?

Once at Justine's side I slowed to match her in pace, hoping she'd show at least some sign of recognition I was now with her. When I went unnoticed, I made to set a hand on her shoulder then decided against this, instead covering my mouth and clearing my throat. How to go about addressing this…?

"Justine…" I began slowly. "I…I didn't mean to disturb you and Fayne…if that's why you left so suddenly… It's only…if I'm honest…well you see…" I kept fidgeting nervously, from tugging at my shirt sleeve to straightening my tie to pulling at my collar. It certainly wasn't helping me explain myself… "Maybe you can't understand…but ever since you were young I've doted on you…and now that you're getting older and even more independent than you were as a child I know I need to allow you to spend time away from me… It's difficult though, when I want to continue to protect you, so…so that's why I broke in. To make sure you two weren't…" I cleared my throat again. "And it doesn't help I dislike Fayne… He's so…ungentlemanly… And I know that trait's a bit…outdated, but for as long as I live," my features tightened defiantly as I slammed a fist down onto the folder in my palm, "I'll continue to uphold it and make sure no boy hurts you!"

Besides the footfalls, noise of traffic and general conversations from others on the streets, a silence settled between us and I felt my confidence drift away with the spring breeze. For a moment I wasn't sure whether I should prompt an answer out of her or let her be until, to my relief, she finally spoke.

"Dad…" she drawled. I knew that tone well. It was a hopeless sort tone when I'd said or done something so embarrassing she was embarrassed for me and could only utter my title. "I'm not mad at you if that's what you think…"

"You're not?" This surprised me. "But you seemed so vexed…"

"I was, but…I can't stay mad at you…" Her voice trailed off, then she blurted quickly, "Anyway, I was just having headaches. That's all." Her brow furrowed in playful irritation as she looked back at me. "And how many times do I need to tell you I can fend for myself?"

I knew she was making light of the situation, but even so I couldn't meet her eyes. "I realise, however…well, it's my responsibility as your father, er…foster father to look out for you…"

"Dad…" There was that tone again. "I can look out for myself. I don't want to owe you, so let me take care of my own problems." I was about to protest on this but she swept on. "So you really don't like Fayne?"

For a moment I still felt the need to respond to the last comment she'd made, but I let it go for now. We were both rather awkward when it came to feelings and I imagine not a whole lot would be understood between the staggering, awkward sentences.

"No… I suppose if I think on it, the boy hasn't done much wrong, but even so, I can tell he…fancies you and well, if I'm honest, I wouldn't want you to fancy him in return…because…well I don't want to admit you're old enough now to date… After all, you'll always be…" I allowed my voice to trail off, "my little girl…"

Justine laughed softly. "Well you can stop worrying about that. I don't fancy him. He's just a friend."

I could see her glancing off to the side. This wasn't entirely true, but there was no way I could confront her about having natural feelings, of course. The only solution, I reasoned, was what I'd been doing since she'd befriended Fayne: Spy… I'd almost been caught today, so to drive suspicion away from my actions I said, "I can never stop worrying about my foster daughter…"

And with this comment, I suddenly felt the need to explain a bit of my past to her. For so long I'd practised keeping it to myself I felt rather awkward going into it. Already too much of it had been resurfacing today alone, but…she was my foster daughter—no, my _daughter_ —and she deserved to know at least one truth about me. It wasn't my whole past, I told myself. Just a bit of it. I took a deep breath, then began.

"And I suppose the reason for that is because…" I clenched a fist in an effort to spit the words out, "well, I…almost had to be adopted myself at one point…" No! I cried silently in defeat. I couldn't do it… I couldn't admit I, too, had been adopted… Why was it so difficult? Even so, I tried to reassure myself, what I said hadn't been a complete lie… The silence that followed this wasn't helping my composure, however, and I couldn't help asking, "I suppose that's a bit of a surprise, isn't it?"

Again, only silence followed this response. I looked to Justine, questioning why she hadn't answered when I saw an expression on her face, one that might have been unreadable to most, but to the keen eye I'd honed over time, I could tell by the miniscule smile that touched the corners of her lips and the shine in her eyes that she was happy to know this information.

"So," she began quietly, half to herself, "we kind of share something in common…" At once, her small smile tugged into a wide, teasing grin as she beamed at me. "I didn't think I'd ever find something in common with an old man!"

Now it was my turn to stay silent as I took a moment to simply appreciate this gesture, this acceptance that drew us even closer as father and daughter and narrowed the chasm of insecurity at not being related. Even though I hadn't given her the whole truth, she still accepted a piece of my past. And that, I had to admit, made me feel rather warm and giddy on the inside. Maybe in time, I would have the strength to admit the whole truth…

I finally ended this saccharine moment by crossing my arms in playful irritation.

"What is this? I share something about myself with you and then get insulted?"

"Oh, c'mon, Dad…" she said, "You're not exactly a spring rooster, you know!"

"Oh-ho," I chuckled in warning. "Maybe so, but a spring rooster or chicken—such as yourself—wouldn't last a minute in the real world. Who's the one affording _your_ schooling and paying the bills _you_ rack up for internet and TV and electricity and buying _your_ groceries and—"

"Alright! I guess old people have their advantages…" she ceded before her playful smile returned. "Talking of paying for my stuff, how about we duck in to this Chinese restaurant and order a burger and chips or something. And don't even think about running home to work on that puzzle. I'm starving, so you must be too. C'mon!" She began jogging past me, looking over her shoulder with that teasing glint in her dark eyes. "Last one there's an old man who doesn't know anything about technology!"

Though behind this expression I knew she was giddy with happiness, glad she could relate to someone. I smiled to myself. Even if that someone was an old man who didn't know anything about technology.

Now that this bit of conflict was settled it was time to settle this puzzle. I supposed no matter how much I wanted to head straight home to digest not food but the information I'd learnt, Justine would force me into the restaurant by ripping all this information to shreds. But I wouldn't protest. This late journey about town had certainly taught me about the mysteries I was investigating, but what it had really stressed was how my little girl was not getting any younger.

Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks as I glanced down at the folder in my hands. I had left Mr Tysan's journal with Fayne… For a split second I considered turning round to retrieve it but that was when I realised this night had also stressed something else… How much my past continued to haunt me. I kept walking, unwilling to go back.

Yes, it seemed there was no choice but to spend a night out with Justine rather than theorise. And though it was only at a restaurant, I looked forward to it. After all… A grim smile touched my lips as the last entry from Mr Tysan's journal wheedled into my mind.

I of all people knew how important it was to spend time with those I dearly loved.


	6. Chapter 5

Finally…

This was my first thought when I'd returned home from the restaurant at nine in the evening. Rather late, especially for someone who hadn't slept properly in two days. My desk never looked so much like a bed as I trudged into the office. But I couldn't sleep, I knew. Even now my anticipation carried my feet onward as my tired eyes shifted to the object of my obsession. I had work to do. Simpering, I stepped up to the desk, my shadow looming over a scattered mess of piled notebook sheets. In the middle of it all was what had stirred this obsession within me: Mrs Tysan's folder. I stared it down like an inspector who had spent far too long reaching the cusp of a great discovery. It was full more than ever. Not with papers as it had been the day I'd received it, but with answers. And now that I was home, I was ready to begin dissecting. I could barely keep from cackling with delight.

I would have delved into the folder hours ago. The only reason I hadn't was due to a certain daughter not allowing me to. My fanatical grin reformed into a much warmer smile. And, I supposed I had to admit, I was glad she'd held me back. It had been a lovely time, our night out; Justine, as always, discussed quantum physics with me, taking periodic bites from a burger and chips between explanations, and I, as always, tried my best to understand, taking much larger bites from a simple salad. Though I was famished, I hadn't ordered much else as I'd wanted to return as soon as possible to my investigation. I should have known, however, that the moment Justine learnt of this reason for ordering something so sparse, she would force me to eat a proper meal, no matter how much time I felt it wasted.

"Why did you get nothing but a bunch of leaves, Dad?" she questioned, setting down her newest physics book ' _Neutrino_ ' which she had been lecturing from.

I glanced from the dossier of notes to her then back to the notes. "Well…I'm only a bit peckish at the moment. Perhaps I'll make a more sufficient tea once we're home."

A split second passed after I said these words when a rather loud and prolonged squelching drowned out the chatter of the restaurant. I sheepishly glanced away, feeling Justine's disappointed glare bore into me.

"Lies! I can hear your stomach from here!" she hissed. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You wouldn't happen to be more interested in that mystery of yours instead of eating, would you?"

I had been found out already…? "My, when did you become so observant?"

"Not that hard to figure out when you've got a fork and that folder in both hands…"

With this comment I looked from my right hand gripping the fork to my left holding my notes, noticing only now how obvious my intentions were. But of course I couldn't let her win…

"What are you talking about?" I asked teasingly as I set the open folder down on the table. "I've not touched the folder since setting it here when we walked in."

She now squinted at me, obviously unconvinced.

In an attempt to appear less dodgy yet continue my research, I took a few bites of salad while surreptitiously glancing back to the words before me…until they vanished from my sights. With a surprised grunt I looked up to see Justine had snatched the folder away and was now holding it in both hands. She was masking her mouth, making her glare the only visible feature of her face, and I daresay the flames flickering within added a rather inarguable finality to her next question.

"Do I need to rip this up so you survive…?"

I quickly ordered a burger as well.

When I'd re-seated myself minutes later I tucked into my second meal as fast as I had the first, continuously glancing to Mrs Tysan's folder Justine stubbornly held captive. I quickly noticed it was only tightly clasped in one hand now. She was finished eating and had taken out her phone, paying quite a bit more attention to that than my notes. Good, I thought in anticipatory triumph as I slowly set down my half-eaten burger. I studied the situation, readying, like a cat with its prey, to pounce on the folder at just the precise moment…

Right as I was about to launch from my seat, however, Justine stood and I nearly dived face-first into the table. After hastily righting myself, I looked to see she was about to leave.

"Where are you off to in such a rush?" I asked, no longer worried about the folder. I was well aware it wasn't uncommon for Justine's attention to divert elsewhere once she was finished with a task but even so I couldn't help wondering every time, when had kids become this impatient? "You were the one so interested in eating at a restaurant together, now you're leaving?"

Justine turned to me with brow raised, thin eyes stretched, as if she had completely forgotten I was here at all. Ouch…

"Well, Dad…" she said, watching me with a withering look. Despite this expression there was a soft yet undeniably present defensive tone in her voice. This surprised me. She usually didn't care what I thought, her independence often inspiring her to do what she had already judged was in her best interest no matter who might object. And this wasn't new. She'd acted in this manner since I'd adopted her, and probably well before when with her own parents. So this defensiveness had to be stemming from somewhere important enough to her that it would surface in her voice. Perhaps… The discussion we'd had only an hour ago came to mind, about adoption. Was that it? "A friend wants to meet up," she continued, placing hands on hips in an attempt to maintain her façade. "I can't stay here…"

Seeing the opportunity presented to me, I decided to toy with this newfound guilt, my brow upturned as my eyes glistened with hurt.

"You're with your friends every day, for eight hours, sometimes more! But our schedules are so different I hardly ever see you now…"

She grew desperate now, folding her arms tightly. "That's not true…"

"All a poor father asks is to spend a bit of quality time with his precious daughter and she can't even do that?"

"Oh, c'mon, Dad…"

This was too much fun…

"You know, back in my day children used to stay seated until everyone was done…" I continued on, crossing my own arms to add to the effect. I opened one eye, smirking internally, but upon seeing Justine had promptly returned to her mobile, I cried in disbelief, "and we didn't take out any cell phones while our parents spoke to us!"

Without missing a beat she retorted, "That's probably because cell phones didn't exist back in your day…"

"Not my point…" I muttered, picking up a mug of Earl Grey and taking a sip. So much for my guilt-tripping strategy… After returning the cup to its saucer I became a bit more serious, softening my tone, careful with my next words. "This friend you want to meet up with… That wouldn't happen to be Fayne, would it?"

"No, Dad… I'm too embarrassed by what you did to go over there again tonight." I noticed her eyes suddenly dart to the side. "Ev…texted me. She wants to hang out for a bit."

"Eh?"

"I said…Evelyne texted me. I'm going to hang out with her."

I simply blinked, not willing to display the concern I was truly feeling. Evelyne was one of the newest friends in Justine's ever-widening circle, someone she'd met just this year. She was quite a dark and dismal character, possibly a bad influence, so I didn't necessarily like the idea of my daughter out with her. But similar with Fayne, I knew I couldn't carry on about the matter without Justine getting upset I didn't trust her, especially since it seemed she was already aware of my feelings towards the girl. Also... I glanced out the window by our booth. I've never before let her go out when it was so dark…

"Isn't it a bit late?"

"Yeah, but we need to finish some homework."

I raised an eyebrow. Justine never worked on homework at this time…

"She asked me for help while I was at Fayne's and I didn't see the text until now," she protested with arms outstretched. "Come on, Dad… Even if we _do_ get side-tracked by video games, and I'm not saying it's going to happen, but _if_ we do, it's not like we're sneaking round the dark alleys of London looking for drugs!"

"I'm sure you wouldn't, Just." I took another sip of tea and muttered, "Evelyne, on the other hand…"

"I knew it. You don't like her, either."

Bugger, she'd heard me… "Don't put it that way…"

"You keep judging books by their covers."

Well, might as well express my thoughts on the matter now… "She dresses like some executioner…"

"That's the style these days for some people, Dad! Get with it! Am I an executioner too because I wear these gloves she gave me?"

She held out both hands, showing me her black, fingerless gloves and I teasingly waved them away as I carried on with my point.

"Dressing like you're about to murder someone is a style, is it?"

"It's better than dressing like you're ready for the old people's home."

I leaned in, cupping a hand by my ear. "What? I didn't quite catch that! You'll have to speak up a bit!"

"Here! I'll fix your hearing aids, shall I?"

Sitting back in the booth, I shook my head. "Ah, you young'uns these days… No respect for your elders…"

"'Elder _ly_ ', more like…"

"Fine… I _suppose_ you can visit your friend late this once but I would at least like to know where you'll be."

"At the library," she answered quickly, her eyes shimmering.

"And how long?"

This shimmering quickly faded. "I don't know… An hour?"

"Where _exactly_ in the library will you be?"

"Dad…"

"Alright…" I finally acquiesced. "Just be careful?"

"Yeah, yeah, we will be," she insisted impatiently and immediately turned to leave. I watched her go while simultaneously darting my eyes about the restaurant, making sure no slimy character had been waiting until she was out of my sight to begin stalking her. Once she had exited and was now truly out of my sight, I distracted myself from the continuous onslaught of harrowing thoughts by returning to my notes…when, moments later, I heard arriving footsteps and the folder was snatched away from me a second time that night. I looked up to see Justine had returned. "I need to stop by the house to get my homework and I'll be taking these with"—she waggled the folder pointedly, a mischievous glint in her eye—"so I know you didn't let that burger go to waste."

I mirrored her earlier disdainful glare. "You could just stay seated for a bit longer. That way you'd really be sure I'd eaten properly." And then I wouldn't have to be so worried over you…

"Can't. I've got work to do," she said with finality as she turned to head out once more.

I sighed in exasperation. I suppose I couldn't be too upset, though, when she'd picked that line up from me, and this combined with her decisive nature made her unstoppable.

"What's meant to be in here, anyway?"

"Hmm?" I queried as I looked up. Justine had pulled one of the insect puzzles from the folder. I smirked playfully. "What? You don't know what a puzzle is? Are those ancient history for kids like you?"

She turned back around to me.

"Puzzle? There's a puzzle here?"

I about lifted an eyebrow before ceding she was probably right in some way to question the insect made of numbers.

"Well, I suppose if we're going to get technical, that insect isn't necessarily a puzzle. More a cypher that I don't have all the answers to."

"Insect?"

Now I really did lift an eyebrow.

"Yes. Don't you see it? It's the one you didn't want me to write out from my computer. Or is it that difficult to make out amongst all the numbers?"

"Numbers?"

I blinked.

"You know, for being so young you certainly sound like an old, broken record player…"

She shot me a withering look through squinted eyes as she brought a hand to her head. Must be getting another headache…

"I don't know what you mean, old man. There's nothing on this sheet. So, yeah, I guess it is a puzzle in a way. A puzzle as to why you're seeing things!"

For a moment, my brow remained crinkled as I tried to understand what she meant. Seeing things? But it was right there, the insect! Then I reflected her expression.

"Don't you and your cheek have somewhere to be?"

"You and your cheek distracted me…" At this she turned and began to leave one last time.

"Text me when you get there!" I called after her.

"Okay…"

With that she departed, leaving me to finish my meal without company and my mysteries. And without words to read and someone to speak to, my mind was free to speculate. Curious… She'd not seen the insect at all… It was almost like at work when Mary had spotted my desktop image instead of the pesky insect that had refused to be minimised. What to make of this…? But I couldn't seem to concentrate much on this newest question when I reminded myself to be on guard for her since she was out so late. I hoped she would be safe…

It was because Justine was out with yet another friend I had returned home alone. Due to this, the walk back had been quite uneventful, at least on the outside. No cheeky jokes, no laughter, practically silent save for the continuous drone of London's streets… Within my mind, however, a raucous internal battle had raged between rational logic and irrational fatherly instinct. One second I was confident Justine would be fine, the next I was fighting off the urge to bolt to the library and keep watch for any danger she might encounter.

As I returned from these thoughts I couldn't help glancing to one of the framed pictures not obscured by the piles of paper layering my desk. She'd been quite a bit younger in that photo. Independent even then of course, but not far from my protection. Not as far as she seemed now. And soon, I had been reminding myself more and more each day, she would be leaving for university. Where I could no longer protect her, watch over her, joke with her… I had borne the truth time and again in my life and I knew this was yet another challenge to face the facts: As Justine grew older she was in less need of my care. If these past few days had taught me anything, it was that.

But, as always, these facts did not stop the melancholy stirring in my heart. In fact, they were the catalyst to it. How difficult it was to slowly let her go, let her spread her wings and fly further and further from this nest when I'd taken her under my own wing for ten years now.

I shook my head, suddenly realising how ridiculous my vexations were. She was only out with a friend, for goodness' sake! Yes, it was the first time I'd ever let her go out this late, but she'd be fine. If I couldn't manage this, how would I ever manage her moving out on her own? Or dating…? Or even worse…marrying? I put a hand to my head. Enough on this before I fainted… I had work to do.

As I seated myself at my desk I opened Mrs Tysan's folder, recalling what I'd learnt that night. While reading Mr Tysan's journal, I'd found more information on his archaeological digs. As an adult, he'd searched for what he had proposed were seven powers. The reason for this proposition was due to uncovering the Scroll as a lad. He had also claimed he'd travelled through time. Once when finding the Scroll. A second time to find the powers. When he'd discovered these powers, at least two out of the supposed seven, the man he had been with at that time, a scientist, had disappeared, along with said powers.

That was when I had quit reading. This information had not helped answer any questions I'd been tailing for a couple days now—why the hourglass symbol left behind on the victims coincided with the Scroll, how the victims were killed, the reason behind the bodies being moved and the missing relatives who had never come forward to mourn their deceased loved ones, who the culprit really was… More it made the winding road of this mystery fork into even more roads to inspect—how the Scroll's supposed powers linked to the murders, if at all, and what had truly happened on that day all those years ago when Mr Tysan had discovered them. Needless to say, this made it even harder to put an end to these murders as soon as possible.

For a moment I thought of re-reading the journal entries to be sure I hadn't missed any vital information until I quickly recalled I could only return to it in memory. I had left the journal at the Tysan house. However—my features became tight—I suppose that was for good reason. The very last entry held an eyewitness account of a time in my life I had, for decades, wished I could erase as simply as a computer did a file. The destruction of London. I couldn't think about it without wisps of gunpowder lacing the air around me, scenes of the destruction flashing before my eyes, my throat tightening with grief like a noose around my neck. What had happened that day was not worth recounting. _Never_ worth recounting. It was over. In the past. And London had been rebuilt now. By my hands, no less. So to let something from back then eat away at me—

 _BZZZ…BZZZZZZZ…_

My mobile vibrated against my desk, snapping me from these nightmarish memories back to reality. I silently thanked the distraction, exhaling a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding in, and reached for my phone.

" library" I read the text from Justine. Good, she'd made it safely. I found, however, that even with this reassurance I had to make a conscious effort to fight off the anxiety that clung to the edges of my mind. Anything could go wrong while she was out of the house at this time, after all. A car crash, an abduction… A murder…

Perhaps, I thought hastily in an effort to return to my notes, now would be a good time to employ a journalist's six best friends. Who, what, where, when, why and how. The 'how' of this matter had intrigued me the most. How had the killer done his killing exactly? No internal or external injuries found on the victims. Not even the medical examiner could explain the deaths. Perhaps poison was involved? A poison that couldn't be detected in the body? And maybe this poison was being produced on Trent Road… Maybe that was why the murders were taking place there…near the library…

Near exactly where Justine was at this very moment!

I shook my head again, forcing away the wild thoughts it had concocted. She would be _fine_. Now…on to the 'when' of the murders. They had been reported at about four in the morning due to noise complaints from neighbours, most likely because the bodies had been moved to throw off the investigation, but both murders had actually taken place at around two in the morning, a week apart. It hadn't been a week quite yet, but even so it was a bit early to say the culprit was consistent. He might strike again in a week…or perhaps a few days…or tomorrow…or even…tonight…

And Justine would be the victim!

I groaned and ran a hand through my hair. Goodness, this was difficult… Justine can handle herself, you know that, I scolded. She isn't a child anymore…

 _What does this have to do with her being a child or not?_ my fatherly intuition snapped back before I could continue my notes. _Go retrieve her!_

I attempted to ignore the voice, but the more I read my notes on the murders, the more I feared the killer I'd been investigating, and the more I found my thoughts twisting from puzzling out this mystery to Justine's dead body.

No, she's independent enough! I countered, then added rather morosely, She doesn't need me to protect her anymore…

 _Independence? She may be independent enough to make her own decisions but that doesn't mean she can defend herself from a killer!_

My brow creased slightly. Good point… But, even so, she wouldn't want me to disrupt her time with a friend. I've already done that once tonight…

 _There. Is. A. Killer. About! What does it matter what she wants in this case?!_

I blinked, suddenly realising how right my fatherly instincts were. It didn't matter how much I embarrassed her, I needed to keep her safe! I snatched up my mobile as I launched out of my chair. I made a horrible mistake letting her go out so late! I'm a terrible father!

I began to run for the door, willing to drag Justine home if that's what it took to bring her back alive. Just then my mobile buzzed with a text and I stopped short to eye it hurriedly. If it said anything about her being held captive or killed or…!

There was a picture of a book. With my mind frazzled as it was I couldn't help but see it as a sign from the serial killer that he'd taken my daughter and this book was yet another cypher I'd need to solve to ever see her again. Convinced of this, I didn't bother actually reading the message as my fingers inadvertently dialled Justine's number. Each ring seemed to stretch on, longer and longer every time, drawing out my anxiety…

"Yeah, Dad? Did you need something?"

Finally! "Are you safe?" I sputtered frantically.

"Wh—Of course I am!" she exclaimed. "I picked up the phone, didn't I?"

"That doesn't mean you're safe. The killer could be telling you to say that!"

"What…?"

"Look around you," I continued in a panic. "What do you see?"

There was a pause then, "Books. Loads of books…"

"Any people?"

Another pause. "Yes, Dad… There are people in one of the many libraries of this busy city named London…"

"Have you been staying observant like I've told you?"

"Yes…"

"And you've not noticed anyone following you?"

"No…why?" Though still thoroughly annoyed, a hint of concern now traced her tone. "Dad, you're starting to scare me…"

"I just want to be sure you're all right. Even with these murders I've been investigating lately I didn't think to stop you from going out…" I could hear only silence on the other line and I had a feeling as to why. Suddenly defensive, I blustered on. "You're internally shouting at me for not trusting your judgement… I know you're independent enough to look out for yourself, Justine. Trust me, I know, but that's not the issue. I'm your caretaker and that means I'm supposed to take care of you, which I'll have failed to do if you're being held hostage somewhere—"

"Dad," Justine interrupted, laughing at my frenzied state. "I'm not locked in some seedy basement. I just sent you a text. Did you even read it?"

Recalling the message I'd received before frantically phoning Justine, I replied in a bit of surprise, "No… I suppose I didn't." With this, I opened the message and actually looked it over this time. The title of the book was not some cryptic puzzle as I had first thought. It said, ' _Computers for Dummies_ '. Underneath this image was Justine's text, "Want me 2 check this out for u? xD" A smile tugged at my lips.

"Hey, now…" I said in a good-natured warning.

Justine snickered. "See? Everything's fine so quit worrying. Maybe you should work on some different articles for your paper while I'm out?"

"Yes," I agreed, running this conversation through my head and realising, once again, how ridiculous I was acting, "perhaps I should…"

We said our goodbyes and after ending the call, I sighed in relief. Not only was she safe but she hadn't been upset over my concern. At least she had understood more than usual. Maybe our earlier adoption discussion truly had tightened our bond. I couldn't help beaming.

I took Justine's advice once back in the office, exchanging my notes on murder for my articles due tomorrow. Certainly writing about a biscuit and tea fundraiser would keep my thoughts positive until she returned…

At least this was what I had expected. Only once Justine did return two hours later I noticed I'd written several rough drafts about tea, biscuits and keeping a daughter safe. But I didn't care. The moment I heard the door open I darted out of the office in a mad rush. Halfway to the kitchen I came to my senses, realising how awkward this would look and, clearing my throat, slowed to a walk. I could never allow her to go out this late again, I decided wearily. I could already feel the newest grey hairs beginning to sprout…

Upon stepping into the kitchen, hoping I'd only look as if I was about to make a cup of Earl Grey instead of checking on Justine, I pulled up short. Justine was not alone. With her was a girl dressed from head to toe in the darkest, pointiest attire I'd ever seen. Her shoes, her trousers, even her neck was adorned—or maybe impaled was a better word—with lethal-looking spikes. What wasn't spiked was still rather daunting to say the least. Her black hair was pulled back, blood-red dye—or possibly just blood—streaking the ponytail. Her hands wore rather impractical gloves with many holes. I think Justine called them fishnet but why would anyone want to wear fishnets for fashion? I could wrap my mind around quantum physics before I could wrap it around that… Probably the girl's vest top was the most normal article of clothing she wore, though it did feature what I believe was a word written in such a bizarre scrawl I could make neither head nor tail of it.

"Good evening, Evelyne," I greeted. It seemed she could end up killing someone by just bumping into them but I had to remind myself she was still a lady to be treated with elegance and respect.

She turned to me, the chains like those of a prisoner clinking on her black cargo trousers. "What's good about it?" she asked, indifferent.

I crossed my arms and tilted my head as I pondered her question. I'd never been questioned that in response to a greeting before…

"Hmm… Well, I suppose it depends on the person now that I think on it. What might be considered a good evening to me could be a completely different evening to you, and vice versa—"

"Dad," Justine interrupted as she slung her backpack over a kitchen table chair. "It wasn't a real question…"

I blinked. "I knew that…" I hadn't, however, known that. Evelyne was difficult to read, even with my level of observance. Her expression was so apathetic, her brow, her eyelids, her mouth, everything set in such a straight line. And those dark eyes. Like a void from which nothing ever escaped… It was rather intimidating not having any emotional cues to rely on…

"Well, in any case…" I continued, trying to have a proper conversation with the girl. "How's the school year going? Excited to be nearly done, aren't you?"

"Let's just say I'm at the point where I'd have absolutely no regrets if a plane crashed into me, killing me instantly."

"Uh…" I found myself at a loss. "Well…surely you have something in mind for a graduation party? Any presents you're hoping to get?"

"A mother who appreciates my hard work and a father's love."

I stared at the girl. I wondered for just a moment what went through her mind every day before reconsidering delving into that question. What would the Professor do in this situation? Had he ever encountered students like this? Even in all my years of interviewing countless people—victims, witnesses, culprits—I'd never once met someone this…depressing… She seemed to be worse than the first time I'd met her which had been only a week ago, but even so…

"Is that so?" I attempted with a rather dry chuckle. "I remember when I was in school—"

"Back when death came quickly?" Evelyne put in. Justine doubled up in laughter, presumably because she thought Evelyne was making a joke about my age, but I think the girl was asking a legitimate question, which concerned me even more.

"Erm, well…probably not back that far." I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Anyway, Justine and I already ate but would you like anything? Or a cup of tea? Water?"

"I'd rather not feed this mortal vessel to prolong my suffering, but if I have to…"

Oh my…

"Is it okay if Evelyne stays over, Dad?" Justine asked just then.

Does she have to…? As I thought on it, I was a bit annoyed Justine had invited Evelyne without permission. There wasn't much of a problem with it. At least from a glance she didn't seem to be hiding any drugs or other illegal substances… But perhaps I could use this as an excuse to be rid of the girl.

"You didn't exactly inform me you wanted a slumber party tonight."

"I sent you a text…"

I looked to my mobile but didn't see any other message. "Where?"

With an anticipatory look, Justine stepped up and took my phone, analysing it but a second before flipping it towards me, showing an alert that read the memory was full.

"Get a new phone, Dad…" she said in exasperation. "Yours is so old you've run out of memory from, like, ten messages."

"Well maybe if you'd quit sending texts poking fun at my age…" I pointed out.

Ignoring me, she clicked through a few messages. "What even are half of these, anyway? One says something about a meeting at the London Eye. Here's another one to the same person about a dinner date at—"

In one swift, fear-stricken movement I snatched my phone from her and pocketed it. "They're nothing… Just messages to an old friend… And I keep other messages in case I need to refer to one for a report…"

"Another reason to buy a phone from _this_ century…" she quipped. "Anyways, I did send you a text, but you didn't—or should I say _couldn't_ —answer."

I watched her suspiciously, waiting—hoping—for a microexpression to cross her features to prove she was lying.

"C'mon, Dad…" she protested, seeing my reluctance. "It's just a sleepover for one night. We won't stay up late and we'll be quiet."

Not exactly what I had an issue with… I more wanted to be sure I wouldn't find the two hanging by their necks because Evelyne had talked Justine into committing suicide… But it didn't seem Justine was lying about having asked permission at some point so, with a sigh, I complied. "Yes…Evelyne can stay."

"Alright!" Justine celebrated, throwing a hand in the air to high-five Evelyne who had raised a subdued hand in return.

I escaped back into my office before I got into another conversation with Evelyne. Not something the Professor would approve of but if I played my cards right, perhaps I could avoid her for the rest of her time here… It was a good job I had already been busy figuring out if—and when—the murderer about London would strike again. Now that Justine was home safe, I could put my full concentration into the matter. I glanced out the door, hesitating to be sure the coast was clear as I listened to Justine excitedly explain a remake of a videogame she'd downloaded and Evelyne offering a monotone 'yeah?' every once in a while. As long as I kept an ear out for any unusual noise, I could stay out of sight and make sure the two weren't up to anything. With this, I seated myself at my desk once more and began to organise my notes, setting my mind back on track as I reviewed what I knew.

One group of notes consisted of what I'd taken on both murder cases. I leafed through the notepad I used for reports on various scenes until I located my notes on the Trent Road murders. Two victims, both murders at 2.00am, reported at 5.00am due to bodies being moved, lack of relatives mourning, lack of external or internal injuries and—I fingered two copies of the scraps of paper the killer had left behind on his victims—the hourglass symbols. There was no doubt these murders were connected. The doubt was why the Scroll and the powers, both associated with the Tysans, coincided with these murders.

This led to my second group of notes. I flicked through a few more pages in my notepad. These were on the interview at the Tysan's during the second murder. While there, Mrs Tysan had exhibited anxious behaviours. Blushing when I'd praised her, irritation at the mention of her husband, stuttering, confusion…

But the strangest observation I'd made was in my third set of notes consisting of my two informal interviews with Fayne. I switched over to a different notebook, one for my more casual notes. Fayne had been nervous during one of the interviews. The same interview I'd found out his mother wasn't an archaeologist. That she had lied. For what reason, I was still unsure. I could be certain, though, that Fayne was not in on the murders as he'd been too surprised when I'd asked him about his mother's occupation as an archaeologist. He hadn't been aware of her plans. So why the nervousness? Whether or not these plans indicated a federal crime like murder or some simple familial affair, that's what I needed to find out.

And perhaps when I took my fourth set of notes when interviewing Mr Tysan—I flipped to a blank notepad sheet—I would finally resolve this question and have an answer to whether or not I should suspect the people I'd visited over the past few years, those I'd trusted to occasionally watch over my daughter.

I glanced to the desk clock. Half-ten already. I'd phone Mr Tysan tomorrow morning at a more reasonable hour and set up an interview. At present, I would continue to speculate. Though my body and mind alike longed for sleep, my determination wouldn't allow it. I'd be far too restless, anyway, with all this new information right at my fingertips, especially now that I had fully gathered my thoughts. I was starting to realise just how complex this murder was, too much so to keep in the back of my mind gnawing at my dreams or to be carelessly stashed away in a notebook or folder. I needed to start pinning my observations up on the wall, physically connecting them together. Only then could I find the culprit and stop these murders.

It was decided, then. After I took out yet another notebook from my top desk drawer I continued where I'd left off before. Who, what, where, when, why and how. Intertwining my fingers as I rested my elbows on either side of the folder, I eyed it for but a moment, processing a plan, before setting to work well into the night.

In this time I scrawled out sheet after sheet of notes, pausing only twice. Once was to listen to a strange noise coming from the kitchen at about two in the morning. I soon gathered this was only Justine scavenging for food before she escaped back into her room. Probably up late researching as I was. The second time was to brew a cup of Earl Grey. I still planned on going to bed at some point that night, but I needed to stay awake long enough to finish my notes.

Unfortunately it hadn't been as straightforward as I'd planned. Some of my notes I'd erased and rewritten. Some were crumpled and tossed. In the end, only a select few actually made it up on my wall. These I felt really helped me envision the murders and sum up my goals for solving them. Amongst these were the only two I hadn't written. A copy of the Scroll of the Guardians document from Mrs Tysan's folder and another of the image of the Scroll blown up, pinned at the very start to remind me of the very first clues that had started me on my way in this mess of a mystery. I rolled back in my chair, panning out from the wall of notes to get a better view of my hard work.

'Who' This was my first note. Who was the killer? My goal still was to figure out how the Tysans played a role in these murders, if, in fact, they did at all. So underneath the 'Who' I had written 'Tysans(?)' My main suspect was Mrs Tysan. But could Mr Tysan play a part as well? Was that why Mrs Tysan was so nervous during our interview? Her husband had discovered the Scroll and would know about that hourglass after all. At least I could rule out Fayne. Below 'Tysans(?)' I had written 'Mrs Tysan(?)', 'Mr Tysan(?)', and 'Fayne'. That settled the who, at least for now. I turned from this note to the 'What' I had tacked up beside it.

Beneath 'What' I had two tally marks and beneath that, 'murders at present'. I hoped I would not have to add to the murder count but I couldn't deny the possibility it may increase, hence tallies instead of numbers. Below, I had written 'First murder – the bloke', 'Second murder – the young girl', 'Relatives unknown – possibly missing – held hostage/murdered as well'. I didn't have names, unfortunately, and I didn't know how—or even if—the two were related. Often times a serial killer chose his victims based on certain characteristics said victims shared but I'd not heard from Inspector Brown on any sort of connection. They didn't seem to be father and daughter, uncle and niece, nothing. It wasn't their appearance that was connected. Could it have been a personality trait? Perhaps where they both lived? This led me to 'Where'.

'Trent Road'

'The bloke – address 2295'

'The little girl – address 2300'

'Both were possibly moved, addresses may be incorrect'

'When'

'Reported to police at 4 am'

'Murder actually took place at 2 am – one week apart'

'Why'

And that's where I had been stopped. I had near to no information to even begin making speculations on this question. Why had the killer killed? I was completely unsure of the motive. I could guess it had something to do with the Scroll, but that was all.

Similarly, my 'How' sheet was left fairly blank with nothing but 'no internal or external injuries – no murder weapon/no fingerprints' below

After all this work, I couldn't find any answers even now. I hadn't expected to solve the case tonight, but if I compared it to a puzzle with all the border pieces connected, I still had many inside pieces to find. This was much further from being completed than I liked to admit. At least now my desk was quite a bit more orderly than I'd seen it in days…

I leaned back heavily in my chair, sighing tiredly. This murder case had really thrown a wrench into my schedule and my usually organised office. I guess it had been quite a while since I had investigated this hard…back when I was researching the mystery of my parents' deaths. Talking of, I thought while resting my eyes for but a moment, it was nearly time to visit them again…

 _"…back…inside…"_

 _"…go back…still inside…"_

 _"I have to go back!"_

 _"THEY'RE STILL INSIDE!"_

I shot up in my chair, awakened by my own shouting. My eyes darted wildly about the office, my chest heaving, my fingers digging into the armrests, my muscles coiling like a spring about to launch. Several seconds passed before the short yet impactful nightmare began to melt from my sights. As I returned to a more peaceful reality, I exhaled slowly in exhaustion, settling back in my chair as my heartbeat regulated, clasping my shaking hands loosely in my lap. Even after all these years I could be thrown back so easily into the night they'd been killed… With the amount of therapy I'd gone through one would think I'd be cured of such an ailment…but I had to remind myself, not for the first time since my road to recovery, trauma wasn't simply an illness so easily eradicated from the body through medicinal means…

In an effort to push the past away once more, I looked to my desk. Set in a now neat stack off to the side were the two insect puzzles, one from my home computer, the other from my work computer. I shouldn't be sleeping. I had another mystery to occupy me yet. Hunching over my desk, I began to gather my thoughts yet again, puzzling over the theories I'd already made on what this insect and its numbers were trying to tell me…or rather, were trying to keep so intently away from me. Was there perhaps something I'd overlooked? Miscalculated?

As minute after minute passed, frustration welled within me when, even now, no solution presented itself. My impatience was only exacerbated by my lack of sleep. I took a sip of lukewarm Earl Grey, rubbing my temple with the middle and pointer fingers of my free hand as I propped my arm on the desk. How did Justine do it…? I thought, recalling all the times I'd seen her fingers dancing away on her keyboard, typing out a new theory despite her having only slept for mere hours. Maybe it was those energy drinks…? Or maybe it was something about computer screens versus paper? Did the light help keep one awake? If so, she'd been right to constantly insist I switch to digital means of writing. My eyelids began to droop once more and I took another swig of tea. After returning my mug to the saucer, I decided I'd give typing out my thoughts a try. I set down my pen and looked to the screen, opening a digital notepad, beginning to type. But after only a minute, I knew this wasn't helping. In fact, I couldn't help yawning as my tired eyes stung even worse. I could practically feel the bloodshot veins…

But there was one thing that caught my eye as I went to close the notepad. Something that would definitely help me find answers, that had been in front of me the whole time. Something Justine would have made use of the moment she came to a dead end. The internet. I couldn't believe I hadn't tried it yet!

Rejuvenated as a new path opened up to me, I straightened and set to work. The one good factor about technology that I was still getting used to understanding was how I could so easily search for what I once had to find on foot. I felt more accomplished when actually travelling around, but the Internet provided me with the speed I needed at present.

After typing into the search bar all the numbers that formed the insects—1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13…up until the largest number I saw, 196418—I sat, simply captivated by what I might find, as the webpage loaded. What popped up moments later was not information on the insect, but rather a load of sites about number theories. The most prominent was something called the Fibonacci Sequence. I'd not heard of this before. Not even in school and I had been in quite an advance level maths class… Even so, based on the amount of links involving both the numbers from the insect and the mentioning of this Fibonacci Sequence, this must have been at least a step in the right direction.

Clicking the first link, I was quickly taken to a webpage featuring this Sequence. I skipped past a bit introducing its history. The Sequence alone had piqued my curiosity but miscellaneous information wasn't important at the moment. Not when I was finally making some headway on what this insect puzzle might be. I moved on to the next bit below.

'Each number in the Sequence,' I read, 'is the sum of the largest preceding number and the preceding sum.' Hmm, interesting… There was a set of numbers as an example. 0+1 = 1. 1+1 = 2. 1+2 = 3. 2+3 = 5… I was starting to understand. I looked back at the insects. The numbers they consisted of were not ordered in the same manner, but it was clear they were part of the Sequence. I glanced to the puzzle I'd printed out. The one with backslashes and full stops. Like sentences.

Perhaps that was it… I thought as the gears began to turn faster now. The numbers didn't follow the Sequence because they were being used in sentences. Sentences…words…

I blinked in realisation.

Letters! These numbers represented letters!

In a bout of adrenaline that came with finally solving the puzzle of this code I'd been pursuing for days, I snatched a pencil up and began scribbling out a code of my own.

1 = A

2 = B

3 = C

5 = D

8 = E…

And so on until I had the entire alphabet connected to a number of the Sequence. My eyes shimmered in wonderment as I straightened in my chair, studying my cypher, proud of my work for the second time that night. I glanced to the insect puzzle, the shimmering twisting to a determined glint. Now all I had to do was apply this to the insect and I'd finally have—

 _BZZZ! BZZZ! BZZZZZZZ!_

I blinked, broken from these thoughts by the sound of my mobile vibrating loudly against my desk. I reached for it and tilted the screen towards me. The number was Mary's. I glanced to the time in the top corner which displayed five in the morning right on the money. She was probably calling to wake me up. I chuckled humourlessly. Joke's on her. I haven't even gone to bed…

"Good morning, Mary," I greeted as I picked up.

"Good morning, Clive!" As always, her greeting was sung rather than spoken.

"Calling to wake me up, are you?"

"Well," she said slowly, hesitating. "In a way, I guess. If you like being awoken by bad news."

The moment she said this I knew exactly why she was calling. I was about to voice my speculations when she answered for me.

"There's been another murder."

"Right," I said gravely, crossing my free arm over my chest. As I thought… "Let me take a stab at what's happened. The victim was killed on Trent Road at two in the morning."

"Yep," Mary coaxed me on.

"We don't know who the killer is."

"Mhmm."

"And the victim was killed by unknown means."

"How could you possibly know all that?" she asked sarcastically. "Yes, that's exactly correct. I figured I might as well call you about it since you've been on the case."

"Any new details I should know?"

"Only new thing I know at the moment is the address. 3291 this time."

"I'll head there promptly," I replied. "Stay safe out there."

"And you too, Clive."

With this, I ended the call. Another murder, eh? I couldn't help feeling contrite. I had suspected there would be another victim and, in the end, was powerless to save them. Of course I couldn't blame myself. I wasn't the police. Even so, one life saved was one less lost. I stood from my chair, letting my muscles stretch and my bones pop, and began to head out. Then, with sombre realisation, I recalled my tacked notes. The murder count… Turning back to my desk I retrieved a pen. The sooner this reckless killer was caught… I thought, adding a tally beside the other two. …the better.

After leaving my bedroom, I quickly freshened up in the washroom. Half a minute later I stepped into the kitchen. I couldn't help glancing longingly at the kettle. Though Mary hadn't set a specific time to be at the scene, I wanted to arrive as soon as possible, make sure I didn't miss a single piece of evidence in this growing mystery. Still, I took a second to search the refrigerator for something—anything—to keep me awake. Scattered about the various health foods I'd just bought were Justine's sugary junk foods she had 'helped' pick out. Amongst these was a pack of fizzy drinks. Not my favourite but after retrieving a can, I cracked the tab open and took a swig anyway. I winced in painful disgust. The liquid that travelled down my throat was quite unlike anything I'd tasted before. Acidic. Burning. Like swallowing needles. So unkind compared to a warm and soothing cup of tea. It did the trick at least. Mixed with the several cups of Earl Grey I'd had earlier I was feeling more awake already.

I turned round to leave for the crime scene before suddenly spotting someone sat at my table. At first I thought it was Justine and about greeted her when I noticed the dark, spiked attire. In my tired state I completely forgot Evelyne was staying overnight and my heart nearly burst, my mind convinced the killer had broken into my house.

"Oh," I uttered, setting a hand on my chest, realising the killer wasn't patiently waiting to take my life next after all. "G-Good morning, Evelyne."

The girl picked up a dainty teacup that must have been from her home as I didn't have anything like it in my house and took a sip.

"What's good about it?" she asked after setting the cup down. "I didn't even get to witness much emotion when scaring you half to death. I had expected more of a reaction."

"Yes, well," I said slowly, still unsure how to have a proper conversation with the girl. "I've mostly trained myself not to express fear." Hand still over my heart, I smiled sheepishly. "Rest assured, I still feel it, though." Remembering the murder as I completely recovered from my fright, I hurried for the door. "Anyway, why are you up so early?" And why do you seem to be making yourself so at home in _my_ house…?

"Justine woke me. She had a headache." Evelyne took another sip. "Said she was going to have a quick walk."

At these words, my heart nearly did burst this time. Justine was out and Mary had just called me about another murder. She couldn't be…

"A walk?" I asked. I still didn't express my fear, but the terror within me was absolutely foudroyant, threatening to overwhelm my composure. She couldn't possibly be the next victim… "Where?"

"Round the house, I think. I told her to come back safely because there's approximately seven-hundred ways she could die while on that walk."

Thanks for the thought!

Grabbing the door handle, its cold metal rousing the suppressed chill that traced my blood, I stepped out the door, nearly forgetting to close it behind me in my fear-induced stupor. I looked around in a daze, turning my head slowly, mechanically, casting my gaze about in every direction, hoping my daughter might catch my eye. When she didn't I felt the urge to bolt for the crime scene. But I couldn't. A shock of icy dread now pulsated through my veins with each hammering heartbeat, freezing my body nearly in place. One robotic footfall in front of the other, I managed to make my way down the three stone steps and stand, lost, on the pavement, the passers-by filtering in front of me a blur to my numb senses.

"My daughter is not dead."

I had meant this to be a statement of fact used to bolster my resolve, to conjure a logical plan. But my voice had wavered in a plea instead, causing my brow to furrow, my eyes to water in desperation. She couldn't be dead. Not after I'd made sure she came home safe last night, not when I promised myself I would never be writing an article about how she was killed, no internal or external injuries, no clue as to what had happened, no information on the one who'd done it. She simply _could_ _not_ be one of the victims in this bloody case—!

"Dad?"

I gasped, halting in my bewildered tracks upon hearing the voice. There Justine was, standing before me. Alive. Unharmed. My trepidation instantly melted, flooding my insides with relief until I was fit to burst into tears and without another thought, I enfolded my daughter in my arms, hugging her tight to my chest. But as quickly as it had overflowed, my well of relief dried up. Realisation settled on me, setting a spark coursing through my chest which erupted into a raging fire, blinding me with fury. I pulled back sharply, gripping one of Justine's shoulders tight in my grasp, glaring her down as I held back hot tears.

"I thought you had been _killed!_ "

Justine winced at my hold but I didn't let up as she defiantly met my eyes.

"I was…walking around the house, Dad. If I would have seen anything strange, I'd have run back inside… You worry too much…"

"I've already told you why I worry, Justine!" I stormed on, "I worry not because I don't think you can't handle yourself. I worry because I'm currently investigating a murder case where _three murders_ now have occurred within the same month, one _just today_ , and I thought _you_ were the victim! How do I make you understand this?!"

For a moment she continued to meet my furious stare with fire in her eyes. Then she looked away.

"Yeah, okay…" she muttered, her voice cracking. "I get it…"

With this sudden complying after such strong defiance, I couldn't help but think back to when I'd first adopted her. We'd been on a walk about London when she'd suddenly dashed off, crossing in front of speeding vehicles. I'd been so surprised by this abrupt and blatant dismissal of danger I could only turn my head and watch her small form grow smaller as she drew further away, my voice caught in my throat, unable to call out while I simply stood frozen and wide-eyed on the pavement.

 _"Justine!"_

Finally my senses had returned. My legs dashed of their own accord after her, now my turn to dismiss danger as, without looking, I pelted across the road, dodging this way and that, my sights never leaving my daughter. I heard but didn't quite register the dull blaring of various horns, the buffeting of wind attempting to pull my body to the left, the right, and then a screaming flash of red, lurid and chilling. That's when I realised I'd nearly just been struck by a double-decker. That could have hit Justine… I thought, my legs pumping faster in response. I called out for her again, but she didn't stop and I wondered whether this was because she couldn't hear over all the noise or because she was ignoring me. It was hard to tell sometimes…

Though it had been only seconds, it had felt like hours before Justine finally made it to the other side of the street and halted on the outskirts of the park she'd been so determined to get to. I quickly closed the distance between us, gripping her shoulder and spinning her round to face me.

 _"_ What _were you_ thinking _?!"_ I cried, stooping and holding both her shoulders now in my hands.

For but a split second her eyes registered surprise before her brow knit in defiance.

 _"I want to go to the park."_

 _"You could have been_ killed _, do you understand that?!"_

She continued to meet my excoriating stare, her own eyes reflecting back the inferno in mine. But this flame was soon extinguished as her face scrunched, a sniffle escaping her before tears spilled down her cheeks.

 _"I'm…s-sorry, Dad…"_ she sobbed between hiccups.

I couldn't stay mad. Not when she was making that face… Instantly, I released my grip and hugged her tight.

 _"I know, Just… I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to hurt you… But you can't run off like that…"_ After a moment of letting her crying subside, I stood and held out my hand. _"Come on,"_ I said gently. _"Take my hand and we'll walk there together now."_

I was drawn back from these memories as Justine continued.

"I'm sorry for leaving, okay?" she said. "I just needed some air…"

There was something in her eyes, something in the way her brow furrowed minutely, and of course that earlier break in her tone that made this an understatement. Did she really just need air or was she walking something off? And her conceding so quickly? When she was trying to make a point? Not normal. What was going on?

"I just…" she began, answering my silent question for me, "I guess I don't want to admit…there's a murderer out there…"

With this comment, I thought back to when I'd first mentioned these murders. A week ago, when the first had occurred. She had always been wary of crime, but with this murder case I recalled she would instantly clam up. I hadn't had to investigate a murder since I'd re-entered journalism so I'd not seen this behaviour much, but as I thought on it now, I soon came to a realisation I'd not yet considered. Not only was Justine getting older and trying to figure out who she was and her place in this world, but she was also trying to understand who her family had been and how their murders connected to her. We may have both been orphans at one point, but even our situations weren't entirely similar. I had been with my parents long enough to know who they were, to bond with them as children were meant. Justine hadn't. Perhaps she was searching for answers even I'd never had the need to question…

This in mind, I allowed my anger to recede. As I had promised myself, I wouldn't press her on such sensitive matters until she was ready to discuss them, but even so, she was under my supervision and I wouldn't let her get hurt, especially while searching her past. I'd been hurt while doing so myself…and, not to mention, I'd hurt others as well…

"Yes, I know, Justine," I said as I released her shoulder from my grip, watching her with compassion, "I'm glad you're independent, really, and I want to support your strong will, whether you're using it to take a simple walk or for something much more, but"—my compassion hardened in another rigid stare—"because you're not an adult and still in my care as of right now and because of the case I'm investigating, you have to promise me you will not leave this house when it's this dark without my permission."

"…Yeah, okay…" She put a hand to her head. I suspected her headaches had come back.

I softened my expression again, suddenly realising something else may be going on as well, contributing to both her emotional and physical turmoil. I think it was about that time again…

"You've been getting headaches recently. Is Code Red in effect, perhaps?"

Justine looked relieved. "Nope, just finished with that whole business."

"So you don't need any war supplies while I'm out?"

She smiled up at me, a bit too innocently, I might add. "Well, I could do with some chocolate…"

I gave her a withering look. "That's not even a necessary supply…"

"Chocolate is necessary! It cushions the start of the battle!" That innocent smile returned. "Anyway, I _am_ your favourite daughter, right?"

"You're my only daughter…"

"I'm your favourite person?"

I sighed, conceding. "Fine… I'll fetch some once I'm finished at the crime scene." I held up the can of fizzy drink, slightly crushed most likely from clenching my fingers at some point earlier. "But I'm only doing so because I stole one of your other supplies."

"Never thought I'd see the day you drank that, Dad."

With this comment and now that our tension was over, my weariness began to settle heavily on my body once more, gravity nearly dragging me down to the pavement for a nap.

"Yes, well…unfortunately I didn't have time for a cup of tea so I had to resort to something less appealing. Hope that's okay?"

"Only if you buy extra chocolate."

"Only if you get back inside."

"Fine, it's a deal."

With a teasing handshake, she bid me farewell as she headed into the house and, reminding her multiple times to stay safe at school, walk in groups, call if anything happens, I departed. I was glad to have sorted out the short-lived conflict with my daughter, but the conflict within my mind did not dwindle as I clacked down the pavement. Once more I couldn't help thinking the sooner this murderer was caught, the better.

I arrived at my destination by the time the sun had begun to rise, streaking the sky blood-red, like the foretelling of an omen. Unfortunately, that omen had already come to pass, leaving another victim without warning.

While in the back of my mind I wondered what this murder entailed for my ongoing investigation, I retrieved my notepad from my back pocket and set to work taking down initial notes. Like the last two, the address was Trent Road, though the house number this time was 3291. The state of the house was quite calm for a murder—no weeping friends, no mourning relatives—like the last two murders. I couldn't help wondering if the victim's family had been killed as well or abducted. Either way, it was another connection to add to my wall of notes. I also documented CSIs were milling about spraying luminol for blood that was never shed and dusting for prints that hadn't been left behind. These last two assumptions had been just that, assumptions, and I'd probably not add them to my article but even so, this murder was definitely associated with the other two, meaning no injuries—or blood—and no suspect—or fingerprints. I glanced to Inspector Brown. I'd soon find out for certain.

As I progressed from the front garden to the side of the house, my tired, stinging eyes glancing round for new information I might glean from this murder, I noticed Richard had arrived in his glitzy car. An annoyed sigh escaped me. And here I was hoping I could avoid him for my entire investigation… He stepped out of his car, his countless rings and other accoutrement practically blinding in the rising sun, saw me, and made a beeline in my direction. I could only imagine what rubbish he wanted to brag about now… At this thought my eyelids grew heavier until I was straining to see through them. I took a swig from the can of fizzy drink, letting the needles pierce my throat. They only partially helped jar me back awake.

" _Dove_ ," Richard greeted as he swaggered up, vaunting as always.

I squinted at him, taking another pull on the can, swallowing another mouthful of needles. They seemed less painful now he was here.

"Good morning, Richard," I returned coolly, stifling a hiccup-burp behind the back of my hand. "Could you get on with your drivel quickly? I don't have much time to waste on you today."

" _My_ ," he drawled, looking down his nose at me piteously, " _someone's_ in a mood. Need a nap?"

I smiled dryly. "Trust me, I would if I could."

I continued walking around the house, taking more notes. Richard followed and I found myself draining more of the fizzy drink. But it wasn't enough. The bursts of energy from the sugar and carbonation lessened and lessened with each swallow and I could feel my mood slipping along with it. After another hiccup-burp, I retorted, "Now, what do you want?"

With this, Richard's cocky smirk returned. "I wanted to wish you and your agency _good luck_ earning any _subscribers_ this month. You'll _need_ it. You read my article on the last murders, about a new _Jack the Ripper_ running rampant through _London_."

"I'd hesitate to call it an article, but go on…"

" _Well_ , this third murder is the _perfect_ opportunity to continue the saga. Think of how many _subscribers_ we'll earn, how much _money_ I'll be pocketing." Puffing out his chest as he placed his hands on his hips, he added sardonically, "And I bet all _you're_ going to do is write the _facts_ …"

Instead of indulging him, I knocked back the fizzy drink, guzzling it in two generous gulps, crushed the can with a punctual clutch of my fingers and belched, making no attempt to cover such ill-mannered behaviour. I couldn't be bothered to act like a gentleman today in front of Richard. Not when I was so tired. Not when he was wasting my precious time with his prattle. At least I got a bit of enjoyment out of him when I saw the repulsed frown that had wiped all traces of that smug smile from his smug face.

"What's _up_ with you?" he began, annoyed. "You're not yourself to—"

But before he could finish I held up a finger to silence him, my tired mind beginning to process what he'd just said. He'd been poking fun at me for writing the facts, but the facts, at least from what I was finding, were more interesting than his made up Jack the Ripper. Perhaps he didn't know all the details…? I looked to him slyly.

"These murders," I said, "I'm guessing you've noticed the connection too?"

I could tell he was suspicious by the way he watched my features. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't _my_ expression that would be revealing any answers.

"Maybe I _have_ , maybe I _haven't_ …" he said guardedly, tilting up his nose. " _Why_ …?"

I didn't respond right away. Instead I searched his face. His jaw clenched as he ground his teeth. One eyebrow angled sharply for a split second. His eyes glanced off to the left once, twice as he attempted to conjure a fabricated answer. I could very easily tell he was irritated. A smile played on my lips. Irritated because I knew something he didn't. Because I'd worded my question in a specific manner, the simple, infinitesimal movements of his expression had been all I needed to confirm my suspicions. That, and he had hooked his thumb on the edge of his trouser pocket and was drumming his fingers against his thigh, a clear indicator, which I had learnt over many years butting heads with him, that he wasn't just irritated. He was infuriated. I couldn't help fanning the flames.

"No reason," I finally answered with a shrug, expelling one last burp in satisfaction. "Only curious is all."

The drumming grew more intense and my smile twisted into a smirk. Not only had I won Richard over but I'd learnt he didn't know anything about the Scroll and its connection with the hourglass. Perhaps now that he was aware I knew something he didn't he'd begin searching but, I allowed myself a self-satisfied chuckle, he'd have to search pretty hard to find the answers I'd come across.

"Even if you _do_ know something, I'll make _certain_ my story trounces _yours_!"

Again, I didn't answer him. I simply turned around, letting his words hang ineffective in the air, and walked away to continue my investigation. Moments later, I heard Richard stomped off in a huff. Now it was my turn to cackle like the arch nemesis I was.

I soon finished up my initial notes. Nothing had stood out to me that really contrasted with the other murders, a good thing considering I was searching for more connections, but I still had yet to speak with Inspector Brown. With this, I returned to the front garden. Inspector Brown was still standing in place, holding a clipboard and penning some notes of his own. While walking up I watched as a member of forensics rushed up to him and listened in on the distant conversation.

"We've conducted the fingerprint analysis on the piece of paper with the hourglass, sir, but no prints could be lifted, like the last two murders."

He tried to offer the scrap back to Inspector Brown, but the detective shooed his hand away. "Run another test. There must be something."

"Yes, sir. We'll get back to you in five minutes."

"Make it two."

"Yes, sir."

And with this the member of forensics returned to his team. My eyes shimmered. Such respect the Inspector commanded. Perhaps I could adopt him as the son I'd never had…

"Good morning, Inspector," I greeted as I now made my way up, holding out a hand.

Continuing to study the clipboard, he removed one hand to shake mine, then, blunt as always, got straight to the point.

"You're a right smart fellow, Dove," he started, catching me off guard. I couldn't help scratching the back of my head with my pen, embarrassingly flattered. "I'm sure you can take an educated guess as to what's happened here."

I smiled, straightening my tie. "Well, I have been doing a bit of investigating on my own, after all. From what we've seen, I'd say the victim was killed at two in the morning." The Inspector nodded. I continued. "When the autopsy report was submitted, the medical examiner discovered no signs of external or internal injuries." The detective nodded again. "And a scrap of paper featuring an hourglass was left on the body." The detective nodded a third time while retrieving a tiny plastic bag holding the little scrap of paper from under the clamp of his clipboard which the member of forensics had just promptly returned. I was guessing he didn't have any luck finding those prints in the end.

As Inspector Brown held up the scrap I examined it only to find it was the same as always. Ragged around the edges, torn from another full sheet of paper, and there was the hourglass insignia, outlined in faint white.

As I peered closer, however, I noticed something written on the back as the plastic bag fluttered ever so slightly in the breeze. Curious… I don't remember seeing anything on the other pieces…

"Inspector, what's on the back of that scrap?" I asked. "Something you've penned?" Or something the murderer penned…?

He glanced to the side of the piece facing him. To anyone else his stony expression wouldn't have seemed to change, but I was able to catch a millisecond twitch of his brow. "Nothing. Why do you ask?

Nothing? I questioned silently, surprised. I had expected at least one of my two speculations to be true, but for both to be completely wrong… It was like calling heads or tails while flipping a coin only to have the coin land straight up on its edge…and it was just as perplexing…

"Hand it to me a second," I requested. He placed the plastic bag with the scrap in my palm and I flipped it over. Upon doing so my eyes widened. There was another insect puzzle! Though rather small compared to the other two, I could recognise the tiny numbered body and wings anywhere, the same beginning numbers as the ones I had at home. I thought for a moment. Had the other scraps really not had anything on the back? "Do you happen to have the two other hourglasses from the last murders?"

Without hesitation the detective unclipped two more plastic bags with the two scraps from the clipboard and handed them to me.

I flipped them over. Sure enough there were insects on both, written in the same Fibonacci numbers I'd learnt of earlier that morning. The detective hadn't seen the insect on this one. Would he see it on the others…? I held up all three scraps, the backs facing Inspector Brown. "Are you sure you don't see anything?"

He took one glance then nodded. "What are you on about, Dove? Something you've discovered?"

My features grew tight as I placed the pieces back in my palm, staring at the miniscule insect. He really couldn't see them… It reminded me of when the puzzle wouldn't leave me alone at work and Mary had spotted it…or at least should have. Instead she had seen the background of my desktop. And just yesterday, as well… When I'd been eating with Justine. She hadn't seen the insect puzzle… How could this be…?

"Nothing," I answered the detective once I had registered he'd pressed me. "I…guess I just saw something. Been running on a low amount of sleep."

Inspector Brown nodded curtly. "I can certainly relate."

"Thanks for your time," I said, a bit absentminded as I began to rapidly write this new discovery in my notepad, my mind reeling. That insect was not just a random puzzle nor a virus infecting my computers. It never had been. It was connected to the murders all along. Somehow.

And here I thought I had been making some progress on this puzzle. Now I wasn't even certain I had a clear picture on the box let alone any of the pieces connected…


	7. Chapter 6

_Shff…Click…Shff…_

How convoluted this mystery was becoming…

 _…Shff…Click…Shff…_

A third insect puzzle, identical to the ones from my office and home computers…

 _…Shff…Click…Shff…_

And on the backs of the hourglass scraps… How had they got there…?

 _…Shff…Click…Clack._

The sound of my Oxfords striking hard pavement acted like a knock to my senses, pausing me in place as it drew my attention back to the present. I lifted my gaze, gathering my bearings. Behind me was the yellow police tape I had just stepped out from under, cordoning off another victim's front garden. Before and around me many others strode. I glanced to my watch. Nearly seven in the morning. Quite a more customary time than when I had departed for packed streets and pavement. At this time, not only were tourists out and about—snapping photos of 'Big Ben', family gatherings on the London Bridge, pointing to spiralling hotels in which they had reserved a room alongside hundreds of others—but so were Londoners. Many dressed as I was. Button-ups, suits and ties. A phalanx making its way to various, equally similar happenings. And all—tourist and Londoner alike—were quite occupied with their mobiles, every possible topic meeting my ears as I silently eavesdropped. Work, school, video games. Friends, enemies, family. Predictably quotidian as they carried on with their day, seemingly unconcerned with the world around them.

But as someone who had just investigated a murder, my mind was far from focused on the ordinary.

 _…Clack…Click…Clack…_

As I continued on once again, clicking my pen in time with my footfalls, I stared through the notes I'd already re-read what felt like hundreds of times. One more crime. One more 'Hourglass Murder' as it was now being dubbed by Inspector Brown who had informed me of this just before I'd left. It hadn't varied much from the two prior cases. Another victim without a single wound, inside or out. Another hourglass scrap, adding another mystery to the mix. And, most important, another getaway made by the murderer who could be—no, _was_ —plotting at this moment where to strike next.

The detective knew all this as well and even though he'd provided an official name for the murders—meaning they had reached a more recognised status—I'd learnt Scotland Yard would not yet be enacting a curfew. Why? I'd asked this very question of Inspector Brown moments ago. But he couldn't say. Confidential, he'd offered unhelpfully. Something the Commissioner had decided. Though unsatisfied, I'd penned this knowledge down in my notes for recordkeeping purposes. But it didn't answer the questions gnawing at my mind. For what reason did they leave the city vulnerable? Couldn't they see keeping citizens safe should be just as important as catching the culprit? There had been three murders after all, in just a week and a half… What were they thinking?

I sighed through my teeth, my features tightening. But what did I, a simple reporter, know…? I couldn't help thinking a bit bitterly. Another reason to trade in my current profession for detective work… This refusal to enforce curfew only made me more anxious to understand as well as put a stop to these killings. Enforce my own curfew…

But I suppose even as a simple reporter, though I couldn't enforce, I could still solve. And perhaps I was coming close, or at least closer, to doing just that. I flipped a page in my notepad. At the scene I'd found another insect puzzle, this time on the back of the scrap of paper inscribed with the hourglass. In fact, it had been on all three. The one left on this, last week's, and the week before last's victims. I scanned the page now open to me, reviewing my sketch of the three scraps and an outline of the insects within. It was another piece of the puzzle at least, but with it came new questions. Why had the insects been there when up until now they had only appeared on my computers? And how had they ended up on the previous two scraps? They'd been in Inspector Brown's care so the killer couldn't have added them after the fact. And surely I should have seen them if they were there before… I turned another notepad page.

'The insects seem selectively invisible.'

Talking of seeing the insects, I had learnt Inspector Brown couldn't. In hopes of achieving answers, I'd shown the backs of all three scraps to the detective only to be rewarded, instead, with confusion as he queried what I saw. My own confusion after realising this was a bit too familiar. Not for the first time these past few days I was reminded of when the second insect had popped up on my work computer. The one Mary hadn't been able to see either… And when Justine had asked me about Mrs Tysan's folder during supper last night, she, too, seemed blind to the insect…

I had recorded these instances in my notes and had meant to take down that I'd learnt much the same from Richard himself—that he didn't know a thing about not only the scraps but the Scroll as well—and could also be a contender in this mystery of the invisible insect puzzles. But in the end I dismissed this finding. Unlike the detective, Mary and Justine, Richard's nescience wasn't a surprise. He only arrived at the crime scenes to see how he could fit his Jack the Ripper tale around them. The insects could be a very visible, very hungry snake about to lash out at him and he'd still find a way to ignore it while scribbling out a nonsense article about aliens or unsolved murders from centuries past…

Even so, ignoring Richard's bit of the mystery, I still had three other people who were unable to see the insect… I certainly couldn't ignore that something was amiss here.

I shut my notepad, my brow knit with concentration. It was time I enact a two-part plan I'd been mulling around in the back of my mind since departing the crime scene. Firstly, to put my theory to the test. It seemed more and more that, though logic opposed it, this selective invisibility was a real factor in these cases. I still had yet to go to the office today. And considering Mary was the first person to witness—or rather not witness—the puzzle, I could easily attempt to prove it there. I slipped my notepad back into my waistcoat pocket, my fingers brushing another loose-leaf sheet. And no matter what answer I received, whether it was invisible or not, I _would_ uncover some solutions today. I retrieved the sheet and unfolded it, analysing the code I'd scrawled.

Earlier this morning (much, much too early), I'd happened upon a series of numbers titled the Fibonacci Sequence—an arrangement of specific numbers which were also featured in the puzzles. Through heavy eyelids and willpower I'd deduced the Sequence correlated to the letters of the alphabet, meaning the numbers of the puzzle also spelt out a message.

I hadn't had time to decode it (or I would have straight away) and needless to say, I was eager to finally unravel this puzzle, the tired sheen in my eyes shimmering even now with a childlike enthusiasm. But, of course, work came first. Not necessarily because of any moral obligation. More to not appear suspicious or be reprimanded too harshly if I was caught. I hated being deceptive, especially with Mary, but after finishing a reasonable amount of articles, I simply had to know what this puzzle said. Especially now that it was connected to the Scroll. The childlike enthusiasm hardened to a grave glint.

And both the Scroll and insects connected to the murders.

Hmm, that's right…

This thought of the Scroll reminded me of the second bit of my plan. An interview with Mr Tysan. This was both for my report on archaeology and for my own investigation about the Scroll's powers I'd read about in his journal. I needed to set up the interview again, today if at all possible. The sooner I learnt of what this man had found, the sooner I uncovered a truth I could use to end these killings.

With this, I retrieved my own mobile from my trouser pocket, dialling the man's number, which, luckily, I'd had since meeting him, back when I'd bring a much younger Justine over. It was lucky because Mrs Tysan had refused to provide the number for me last week by sidestepping my accidental request for it. Suspicious, of course. And this was why she was at the top of my list of suspects…

Bringing the phone to my ear I listened to the other end ring as I glanced around and saw I was now imitating much of the throngs surrounding me. Probably a good thing… At least, if the killer was amongst us, it would make it harder for him to single me out. I prided myself on being more a leader than a follower, but sometimes to blend into the crowd was to keep oneself safe…

"Hello?" came a voice, drawing me back.

I was about to greet Mr Tysan, until I registered the tone in his voice. He seemed a bit guarded…

"Good morning." With this greeting I, too, took on a guarded comportment, listening for anything dubious, planning ahead, suddenly finding myself playing a game of chess as I analysed the situation. My first move: Not mentioning my own name just yet. I was curious as to how the man would respond. "Is this Todd Tysan?"

Hesitation, then a demand. "Who is this?"

As I thought. He wanted to know who he was speaking with before giving out his own name. Not uncommon obviously but even so… My eyes were much more accustomed to minute changes than my ears, but the tension tightening his throat, straining his voice was obvious enough for me to hear. He was definitely suspicious of this phone call. Was he cautious of someone who had been in contact with him? And if so, could this relate to the case? Only one way to find out. Making my next move. I smiled, allowing my own voice to sound more inviting to gain his trust.

"This is Clive."

"…Ah yes… Mr Dove… Yes, this is Todd. What can I do for you?"

His tone hadn't changed at all. Was _I_ the cause of his wariness? Perhaps this was tied to the anxiety I'd seen in Mrs Tysan when she'd offered to interview in place of him? That might explain her refusal to provide me his number… It was definitely strange, no doubt. I continued.

"I phoned last week to set up an interview with you about your occupation. Since you were busy, may I schedule a time to visit with you this week?"

"...Yes…" He lingered on the word then responded, "Does tomorrow at six in the evening work?"

I cocked my head to hold my mobile between ear and shoulder, retrieving a planner from my other trouser pocket while also pondering if I should test the waters or not. Would he mind if I requested an earlier time?

"Do you perhaps have an opening today?" In an attempt to gain his sympathy I added, "my report is due soon after all."

"No. Tomorrow is the only day I have open for any interviews."

Though his wording was firm, his tone was not. More the complete opposite. Wavering, tentative. Even so, I complied so as not to deter him. "All right, that's not a problem. Tomorrow at six it is. And the location?"

"Uh…M-my office at Gressenheller…"

I blinked slowly. He was getting rather flustered…

"And what room number would that be?" I asked.

"Three…oh-eight."

I penned this in my planner, adding a note about his further hesitation.

"Alright, it's settled then. I'll see you at six o'clock in the evening tomorrow." After marking my sentence with a full stop, I began to plot my final move, my last attempt to glean information from this phone call. "Oh, and by the way. I still have that folder your wife let me borrow. The one with all your artefacts." My eyes narrowed. "I noticed a journal in there, as well."

I waited for a reply. No response. Checkmate.

"I left the journal at your house when I picked up Justine the other night but went and forgot the folder. Silly mistake," I chuckled. "I'll return it when we meet."

Hesitation once more, then a very heavy, "Thank you."

I smiled. "Thanks for your time, Mr Tysan."

Ready to end the call, I lowered the mobile. That's when I saw he'd already hung up.

I surveyed the number and duration blinking back at me, gathering my thoughts about this abrupt disconnection. He'd been disturbed by my mentioning the journal, that much was clear. And with what those entries had contained and the fact it had been hidden, dusty and neglected for years, I was guessing he had very good reason to be wary of me. It seemed I was one of the few people—if not the only person—who even knew of what he had discovered all those years ago…

I may have known Mr Tysan for quite a while, even chatted to him while dropping off or picking up Justine. But this would be the first time visiting him where I felt I would need to protect myself.

Setting aside my thoughts and vexations on Mr Tysan's behaviour for now, I checked around me, making sure anyone who might possibly be the murderer wasn't rearing back to kill me right then a there, then continued for home. The killings were becoming more of an issue, but I still found it rather easy to get lost in thought as I pondered the mystery at hand alongside my curiosities about this newest murder, the insect puzzles, the Scroll, the journal—oh, and I couldn't forget to fetch some chocolate for Justine at the supermarket—the powers—maybe I should pick up some vegetables while I was there, I think we're running out—what all should be added to my wall of notes once I arrived—

"Hey, Dad…"

I blinked, my thoughts interrupted. It had only felt like seconds but I was, in fact, already home. Justine was standing at the door, ready to head out to school. Physically ready, that was. Her hair was tied back in the usual spiked bun and she was fully dressed. Mentally, however, she didn't appear all there. Her mouth parted in a gaping yawn, confirming my suspicions. She must have gone back to sleep after our discussion earlier this morning. I chuckled.

"Good morning, Justine. Or perhaps I should be saying good night?" I ascended the steps, ruffling her hair with a smirk as I passed.

Her annoyed response was immediate, a drawn-out "Da-ad!" accompanying the quick, feverish movements of her hands fixing the bangs she'd worked so hard on.

"What?" I asked, laughter sprinkling my tone. "Now you're awake, aren't you?"

She gave me a withering look in response, though a smile belied her exasperation.

I started to slip off my shoes on the doormat when I heard her begin slowly. "So…" And I knew as I glimpsed her lips thinning in a frown this playful mood was already over. "How was the…" Her voice trailed off.

"Fine," I said to spare her. "Some new clues are coming to light. We still haven't arrested anyone, but at least we're making progress."

"That's good…"

She was looking away. My, the topic of murder really did make her uncomfortable. I offered a warm, teasing smile in hopes of lifting the mood once more.

"I hope you didn't throw a party while I was out."

She didn't answer right away. In fact, she was still searching the floor.

"Do we seem the partying type?" a voice interrupted my observations and I nearly jumped back in surprise when I saw Evelyne suddenly standing at Justine's side, watching me seriously. Yet again I'd completely forgotten she had stayed overnight and was nearly scared to death!

"I-It was a joke, Evelyne," I stuttered, regaining my composure. "A joke…"

"Oh…" she seemed puzzled. This expression quickly fell to one of very subtle determination. "Well, we weren't studying if that's what you might have been thinking…" With this she heaved her weighty backpack up higher on her shoulders. It was obvious she was lying. Even so, she really didn't seem the studying type, either. More…the type that belonged behind bars…

I was about to voice these cheeky thoughts in one last attempt to get Justine to laugh, but as I did, a sudden burp escaped me.

"O-oh, my," I murmured behind the back of a hand. "Excuse me…"

"Oho, good one, Dad!"

Justine was now beaming at me. At least I'd got her to smile but…at what cost…? I thought as heartburn began to sear my insides. I hadn't had the time to brew a cup of tea this morning so at the crime scene I'd downed an entire can of fizzy drink in an effort to keep myself awake. Never again…

"Remind me to keep away from those fizzy drinks of yours, Justine…" I insisted, attempting, unsuccessfully, to stifle another burp.

"C'mon, Dad, that was impressive. Do it again." She pumped her fists. "Louder this time!"

"Shouldn't you two be off to school…?" I opted to change the subject.

Seeing through me, Justine began to protest but Evelyne turned to head out and interrupted over her shoulder, "He's right. We wouldn't want to be late." Just as she said this, though, she turned back round and pretended as if she'd not said a word. Such an unreadable girl she was…

After a few more seconds of expectant scrutiny, Justine realised she wasn't about to get me to comply with her ungentlemanly request. "Fine…" she acquiesced, half-turning to Evelyne while still watching me, disappointed, out of the corner of her eye. "But just for the record I could do better than that…"

I knew that full well… I'd been trying to teach her since adoption to be a lady but she never listens!

"Have a good day," I said in valediction. My smile faded as I became serious, watching the two with a stony regard. "Stay safe. Remember to be observant. And walk in groups. If you see someone acting suspicious, tell a teacher. Even if someone's—don't roll your eyes, Justine, you know this isn't a joke… As I was saying, even if someone's not acting suspicious, don't trust everyone you see. They could be the culprit we've been searching for. In fact," I paused, a brilliant plan coming to mind, "perhaps I should just home school you until this whole case is—"

"You wouldn't dare!" Justine suddenly sputtered. Now it was her turn to insist on getting to school as she took Evelyne by the arm and dragged her away. "We'll stay safe, I promise!"

"Now, hold on," I called, "I think I'm onto something. Maybe I _could_ home school you. What are you learning about right now?"

Yet again Justine opened her mouth to protest, this time in dread rather than anticipation, and Evelyne interrupted.

"The four horsemen."

It was a simple answer, and though her voice was as monotone as always, I knew she was luring me in. My curiosity got the better of me.

"And what's that?"

"A form of execution." A small, eerie smile crept onto her lips. "My favourite one, in fact. The individual arms and legs of the accused were tied to four horses positioned in four different directions. The horses were then whipped, charging off in the direction they were facing and would tear the accused apart in a bloody, gory mess."

I instantly regretted asking.

Seeing Evelyne's plan, Justine, leering, joined in to spite me.

"Yeah, and in science we're learning about the life-cycle of flesh-eating insects. There was this one case where this girl had some flesh-eating screwworms living in her scalp when she returned from a trip abroad. Doctors had to extract, like, one-hundred and forty-some maggots."

I swallowed back the bile welling in my throat.

"In history we have a test coming up on how Egyptians mummified corpses. They yanked the brain out through the nose with a hook, if you were wondering.

I could feel the colour draining from my face.

"And in chemistry we talked about one of the worst nuclear disasters in history. This bloke was exposed to 17,000 times the legal limit of radiation. There's a picture in our book of what he looks like after doctors tried keeping him alive. Here," a bit too enthusiastically, Justine pulled the textbook from her backpack, "I have it marked."

I nearly passed out upon seeing the image. Maybe home schooling wasn't such a good idea after all…

I allowed the two to leave (or rather, they slipped off on their own when they saw I was too dazed by the grisly images churning in my mind to stop them), but once I recovered my composure I watched after them until they were gone from sight. The school was only just down the road, but I still regretted not coming up with an actual brilliant plan, like walking with them or driving them there, before they had gone… As I shut the door I began to ponder a bit woefully, putting the kettle on and walking for the office. They had blended into the crowds so easily… Just two more citizens joining the daily fray, so ordinary…while another person, another seemingly ordinary citizen walked, possibly amongst them, unsuspected, uncaught, hunting down the next victim… If only I really could keep them here, keep my daughter here, safe and sound…

I clenched a fist, my brow furrowed in reluctant determination as I reminded myself yet again that I had to let go, allow Justine to make her own judgements. There were only two possibilities if she was caught up in any danger. Either she'd survive…or she wouldn't. And in case of the latter, I had to understand I couldn't always be there to protect her. I had given her the advice she needed to survive. Now she was in charge of using it, not me.

Besides, I sighed upon entering my office, glancing to a photograph on my desk as I recalled what day it was. Everyone died at some point… Hadn't I accepted that yet…? In an effort to dismiss this rather morose topic, I turned to my wall of notes, setting my mind back to business.

Previously an undecorated, blank wall, my wall of notes covered all the details I had recorded so far for solving the murders. Two sheets at the start were copies of the Scroll of the Guardians document from Mrs Tysan's folder and a copy of an image of the Scroll itself. The six sheets following these featured the questions 'Who', 'What', 'Where', 'When', 'Why' and 'How' with various other notes I'd made beneath these headers. I stepped up and began to record yet more.

First, for the basic facts. To the 'What' sheet, I'd already added another tally for the third murder when Mary had called much earlier, so underneath, I documented how this murder was connected so tightly to the other two. Same time of death, same report by the neighbours, same lack of injury, fingerprints and blood, same missing relatives and same hourglass scrap… In fact, these killings were so connected, they felt almost…systematic in a way. Planned, but to the point it seemed I'd investigated the same exact murder three separate times. I recalled the bodies had been moved as my eyes wandered to the note on this subject. They had been set up deliberately to induce this effect, then. What could be the killer's intentions in doing this? A message of some sort? To the detective assigned the case? Or someone else? Me, perhaps…?

To the 'Who' sheet and underneath my notes about my suspicions of the Tysans, I penned my curiosity about Mr Tysan and the conversation I'd had only a few minutes ago. Was his suspicion towards me related to the murders? And that response I'd received upon mentioning his journal… That heavy tone, like all the world's weight was tied to it. He was certainly hiding something. What that something was…I had to find that out when I interviewed him. Of course I'd have to be cunning. As much as I wasn't proud of that side of myself, it was for justice.

This time at least…

 _Click._

The kettle had finished boiling. I set my pen down, knowing I only had a few minutes before I needed to be to the office. The least I could do was seize this opportunity to pour my tea or I wouldn't get it yet again this morning, especially as I was already running on such a low amount of energy. And with how much I had scheduled for both my real job and my side job of solving this mystery, it seemed I'd need to substitute and sacrifice to keep myself going yet again. A piece of buttered toast to give me if even a minute's reprieve from my stomach's incessant grumbling. A few cups of Earl Grey in place of sleep…

Though I'd broken this promise twice now, I promised myself once more I'd sleep tonight. I may have a puzzle to understand for the sake of London's citizens, but those citizens wouldn't do better off with me passing out. My thoughts shifted yet again to the insect puzzles, my brow creasing. They were supposedly invisible to everyone but myself. And if I was the only one able to see them then I was the only one who could solve them. The only one who could truly save London from the killer. I needed to keep myself alive and well.

Thinking of the killer, it seemed more plausible with each piece of the puzzle I discovered that he'd involved me. The convenience of quickly finding clues linked to other clues, the possible tacit message from these masterfully planned out murders…and the physical message of these insect puzzles—things not even the Inspector had knowledge of… So, what did this mean for me exactly…? Was I to be a victim in this mastermind's murder spree? Well… I couldn't help the grim smile that thinned my lips. After all I'd been through, I was still alive. I'd like to see the killer try. Even so, I knew I wasn't immortal… I picked up a pen once more, a red one this time.

'The insect puzzles are linked to the murders'.

Just in case.

I spent only another minute or so at home, savouring my toast and cups of tea before forcing my leaded feet to the office. By the time I arrived, lucky for me, the restorative, life-giving powers of Earl Grey had kicked in and I didn't waste this energy on anything but setting my plan into action. I placed my rough draft articles along with the Fibonacci code at my desk as I took the insect puzzles with me and walked for Mary's office.

"Good morning, Mary," I greeted rather hastily as I stepped up to her desk. It was only when she turned from her monitor and blinked at me that I realised I'd disturbed her assembling today's paper. "Oh, my apologies. I didn't mean to be so—"

"Good morning, Clive!" she sang, laughing. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine," I answered, chuckling. I knew just how swift her cheerful mood could vanish when someone distracted her from organising, but it seemed she'd not even noticed my discourteous interruption. "Yourself?"

"Oh, fine…"

Her eyebrow upturned, a tell-tale sign she was lying. I gave her a knowing smile.

"You don't seem all that fine. What's the matter?"

"Oh, well… I just got this email from our director. _The Daily_ earned more subscribers with that rubbish Jack the Ripper story." She looked at me, incredulous. "Can you believe it?"

As much as this news irritated me, the image popping up in my mind of Richard's smug smile over such an announcement not helping much at all, I put aside my vexations as I remembered my goal. I straightened my tie. Now was the time to mention the insect puzzles.

"I have something here that may be a solution to dealing with them." I handed Mary the sheets, careful to keep my face free of any emotion. I wanted to remain neutral so as not to influence any answer she gave me.

She studied the papers then flipped them over then flipped them again, thoroughly confused. "What are these, Clive?

"One I printed off. The other I copied down from my own computer."

"You said you got these from the printer?"

"One of them. Why?"

"Only one?" she giggled as she handed the sheets back. "Are you sure you didn't just take two blank pages from the printer and bring them to me?"

I was smiling internally. That was all I needed to hear. But just to be sure, I murmured, "What do you mean?"

"I think your document didn't print, Clive."

I showed her the puzzles again and pointed to the insect, insistent. "This winged insect made of numbers. Don't you see it?"

At this the laughter welling inside her bubbled out, shaking her form with each chortle. When she composed herself, she leaned back in her chair and spread her hands out as if envisioning the title of the best scoop of the year. "'Reporter Hallucinates Bugs, Takes Accidental Holiday to Buggiest Island Ever.'" She cracked up once more.

Just then a co-worker popped in, likely to speak with Mary about an assignment. Perfect. Before he could do much, I took him by the shoulder, acting desperate as I showed him the pages.

"Look closely at these."

He did so. A second passed before he began squinting then another before his brow furrowed. All the signs of confusion. Good.

"There's…nothing on these…" He looked up, a half-smile hovering on his lips. "This a prank or summat?"

I blinked rapidly, feigning confusion.

"'Prank'? 'Nothing'?!" I blustered as Mary continued to laugh at my demise. "There must be something wrong with your eyes!"

" _Our_ eyes, mate?"

Acting affronted, I threatened, "You'll see… You'll _all_ see! There's a _mystery_ here, and _I'll_ be the one to uncover it!" With this, I turned on my heel and stormed off.

"The only mystery here," Mary called between fits, "is why you've not bought a stronger pair of glasses!"

Mary's cackling faded as I drew closer to my own workspace but my own internal laughter had just begun. I placed the two puzzles on my desk, smiling in satisfaction. There was my answer. Mary nor a co-worker, Inspector Brown. Justine as well. They were all unable to see them. But I could.

My contemplation stopped in its tracks, my smile receding to a concentrated frown at this last thought of Justine. I just remembered something. When the first insect puzzle had appeared on my computer, hadn't Justine been able to see it then? Yes… She'd thought it was a virus and insisted I get rid of it. That's why I had sketched it in the first place… But…she couldn't see the one I'd sketched…? I was able to see them fully, everyone else not at all. But Justine was able to see them partially? Might it have something to do with Justine being my daughter? Not through blood, but even so, perhaps just being adopted by me was enough to meet a condition for these puzzles to be visible?

Not only that, I realised only just now, but I had to note another feature of these puzzles: They were invisible no matter what medium was being used to convey them. Mary hadn't seen the one while it was on my computer and she and a co-worker couldn't see the printed or sketched versions. Inspector Brown, the ones on the backs of the hourglass scraps. So was it the very topic itself of the insect puzzles that was invisible…?

I'd stepped into 'hard to believe' territory long ago, but this possibility put me at 'so incredible it should have been impossible'. Should have been… Here I was, though, able to view these puzzles—both digital and written out—clear as day while others couldn't… Now I had concrete proof this mystery really did involve me. And, it seemed for the most part, only me…

So then… I intertwined my fingers, resting my elbows on the desk. What was the killer trying to convey to me? I eyed the puzzle and my notes on the Fibonacci Sequence, ogling them like I was about to dive into a mystery novel. That was…until I remembered just where I was and my eyes shifted guiltily to the articles I had yet to complete for tomorrow's paper. Oh… Right… A bit downtrodden, I logged onto my computer, preparing myself to set to work while silently promising I'd be back for the puzzle in just a few hours.

This task, however, proved quite a bit more challenging than I had anticipated. With the solution just inches from my fingertips each minute felt like an hour, and an hour felt like a day… The time dragged on so slow, in fact, I couldn't help but hear each _tic, tic, tic_ of my desk clock, chipping away every agonising second off my eight hour shift. When I could focus for but a fleeting moment, I was only allowed to type up a mere word before those inveigling puzzles lured my attention once more. I kept glancing away from the monitor, getting lost in thought as my sights darted from the Sequence to the insects. Even if I could just uncover one word—one letter—I thought, I'd be satisfied.

And so when lunch finally arrived, instead of feeding my body (which so desperately needed the energy by this time) I fed my mind instead, off the insects and Fibonacci Sequence. My pencil stationed at the ready over a scrap sheet of notebook paper, I took in the entire image of the numbered insect with its splayed wings, covered in secrets, then set to work. The first number was a '3' and that correlated with—my eyes darted to the Sequence—Yes! A 'C'!

But just as I lifted my pen to excitedly jot this out, my mobile vibrated against my thigh, the jolt I gave causing my pen to scrawl a bloody slash rather than any recognisable letter. Irritated, I promptly answered my mobile without regarding who had called.

"Afternoon, Clive Dove speak—"

"Afternoon, _Dove,_ " interrupted an all too familiar cocky greeting. Richard… "Oh, _my_. You sound _rather_ annoyed. Perhaps that's to do with my agency's earning _more_ _subscribers_ , hmm…? Or is it _something else_? Perhaps a particular _article_ you're sweatin' over? You know, you _might_ as well _give up_. There's _no point_ in trying to _win_ this time. Our editor put _my_ article on the _front page_ again and when everyone saw _that_ …"

 _He carried on and on and on, his prattling seemingly endless until…_

 _"Dove_ …? You still _there_ …? I'm gettin' to the _best part_ , you know…"

I'd set my phone off to the side, not saying a word, waiting for…

 _Click._

There it was. I couldn't help the self-satisfied smile that crept onto my lips as he hung up on himself. What a pompous idiot! Beaming, I eyed the puzzles once more. Now that that distraction was out of the way, it was time to uncover this mystery!

But just as I'd hunched over, my phone alarm began to trill, signifying the end of lunch. I nearly ground it to dust right then and there.

Well, I did say one letter would satisfy me, I admitted, even if that letter had been slaughtered in its making… So, defeated, I returned to working on rough drafts.

But like a cup of Earl Grey, I could never be contented with just one. I wanted more. And now that I had a taste, it was nearly impossible to ignore. Because of this, the rest of the day dragged on even more agonisingly slow than this morning. At one point I had to throw the puzzle and code in a drawer to keep my eyes from searching and my brain from pondering if even for a moment.

Finally, restless, irritable, tired and rather famished, I finished the last of my articles just before five o' clock. It wasn't hard to switch gears, my mood instantly improving as I quickly snatched up the puzzles, practically slamming my hand in the drawer I retrieved them from. That was good enough, I convinced myself. I'd finished enough research. Now I could truly begin putting my code to the test. Before starting I made sure to check no one, especially Mary, was watching. When I saw everyone else busy with their own work, I eagerly dived back in.

On the puzzle I'd printed out, the one with the numbers arranged as sentences, I studied the first line on the very upper tip of the left wing. 3, 987, 610, 21 and 4181. Then I consulted the code. 3 was the C I'd already uncovered which I rewrote properly. 987 was O. 610, N. 21, G. And 4181, R. Congr. Congratulations, perhaps? I continued deciphering. 1, A. 10946, T. 17711, U. 233, L. That was the topmost line for the head done. Onto the tip of the right wing. 1, A. 10946, T. 55, I. 987, O. 610, N. 6765, S… I was correct. It spelled out 'congratulations.' Without hesitation, I worked my way along the next line that made up a longer stretch of the left wing, head and right wing. 'On solving the' was what I had after. It had only been a few minutes but I turned my attention to the office, making sure still no one was peeking into my workspace. When I confirmed I remained unobserved, I turned back to my work, a fervent almost fanatical vigour gripping me as I read over the four words. Perhaps this was in part from my second (or third or fourth) wind from lack of sleep but most of it was due to the realisation this Sequence really was the key to solving this puzzle. It could be done!

Feverishly, I worked my code into the fabric of the insect, from the next lines of the wings and head down to the ends of the wingtips and abdomen. Only when fully finished did I focus on the message I now had access to.

 **'Congratulations on solving the puzzle. Unfortunately I can't explain just yet how you are involved or why these answers need to be solved as puzzles. Bear with me. All I can say for now is you are important to me. That's the only way you can fully read this. Please continue on this mission for me. All will be revealed in due time.'**

I was so intrigued by this message I interrupted myself from finishing what was still left to read. 'You are important to me.' Who? The killer? Someone else? And 'That's the only way you can fully read this.' So, because I was important to…whomever, that gave me the ability to read this message…? Then… was Justine also important to the author? Or anyone else? Anyone else who could solve these puzzles? …Solve these murders…? There was more, I recalled and continued to read what I soon realised was a riddle.

 **'The one closest can't see what you see**

 **But the one furthest away can**

 **The truth, to them, is not a mystery**

 **But the truth, to them, is a sham**

 **At the building of knowledge a book will lie**

 **Talking of seven powers that govern the Earth**

 **About corruption and evil and those who will die**

 **About purity and goodness and those of rebirth**

 **The answers are concealed in darkness**

 **The solutions do take flight**

 **The shadows are rather heartless**

 **So hunt only by the light**

 **That is when all will be revealed'**

I read this message over a couple times, both perplexed and enthralled. A riddle within a cypher… It felt much like receiving a present only to find within the box was another box. There was the word 'powers' yet again. And a building of knowledge? I suppose it depended on someone's perspective, but my idea of a building of knowledge would be a university, or a library. Could this riddle be leading me to one of those locations? There was the Gressenheller University right here in London, the one Professor Layton taught at. Maybe I could drop by and visit him as well, catch up a bit. And of course there was a library, quite a few. Bookstores too. If I wanted to solve this riddle (and of course I did) I imagined I'd have to give them all a visit. Though I might avoid one particular bookstore as I didn't really feel like meeting up with Fayne…

A quiet tune began to play, seeping through into my thoughts. A slightly melancholic ring it was, at least until I returned from my pondering and realised where I was meant to be. I retrieved my mobile, looking to the time as I dismissed the alarm. Five o'clock. As much as I wished to delve into a further in-depth analysis of this newest puzzle, it would have to wait. A grave solemnity darkened my features, my excitement overshadowed. I had two very important people to meet.

Taking the two puzzles, my code and the message I had deciphered in hand I punched out, logged off my computer and walked for the front door.

"Have a good night, Mary," I said over my shoulder as I opened the door, offering a thin smile of valediction.

"Good night, Clive," she said.

I noticed then her usual chipper demeanour wasn't present, her tone reflecting my sullen expression. She knew. But, of course she did… I should have known by now there was no need to mask my feelings. Not from her and not in this situation. We had been friends long enough for her to understand exactly where I was headed.

With this, I departed. The walk there began fine as I took strong strides, my chin held high, even as I entered the market to purchase the flowers. But once I left again and drew nearer my destination I had to lower my face. Not to shield my eyes from the setting sun. More to obscure my emotions from the people walking all around me. I couldn't keep them from pervading my features this time.

The memories weren't helping. I attempted to withhold them from searing themselves into my mind once more, but I already knew it was as fruitless as a bucket of water to a conflagration… A conflagration like the one that had engulfed our flat, luciferous, ferocious … And the fuliginous, suffocating smoke that curled up my nostrils, prickling my lungs… And the shrieks of the sirens, piercing, shrill… And a man—Professor Layton—calming me after the discovery…

I stepped into the graveyard.

…That my parents had suffered and died…

My eyes wandered amongst grey slabs, their forms imperceptible, unimportant, until I found the gravestones I sought. I stepped up to them, my footfalls almost mechanical as images continued to flash behind my eyes, merciless.

I had loved them. And they me. A boy couldn't have asked for a more perfect family. A kind family. A family without a single enemy.

I examined their names, carved, eternal, in cold granite. I could never forget them but they felt closer when I read them over.

And that's why it had been so confusing…the lack of media coverage for the explosion. I hadn't found out the reason behind their deaths…

I stooped and cleaned their headstones of loose bits of grass and debris left over from autumn's litter and winter's thaw.

But then I'd been adopted, become a reporter…and that was when I had discovered the truth. That my parents had been murdered…all for one man's selfish, greedy plan…

Images of old archives, the smell of ink and dust, the feeling of cold sweat as I held the paper that revealed to me years of answers that had been concealed… My fingers tightened into fists.

They had been the ones to lose their lives in the time machine explosion all those years ago. He…the Prime Minister, just a scientist then, had been testing the machine in order to sell it. To whom, I'd never found out. But he had done it for money, fame, power…and none of that was worth even one person's life let alone my parents'…!

I felt a warm, then cool liquid seeping over my knuckles and I turned my head, slow, robotic. The flashbacks had me bound in their stupefying grip. I could do nothing but watch as a lurid red diluted into peach tones, lit with a fiery orange, sliding down, down, down…

Then I returned. I felt pain at first. Then noticed my fingers, clenched so tight the thorned roses were biting into my flesh, drawing blood. I sighed. How could this be…?

I loosened my grip, forcing the memories back. I'd thought on them, dreamt of them and spoken to multiple therapists about them enough. Now it was time to move on. After all, those blind emotions were what had caused London's destruction in the first place… I turned back to my parents.

"Good evening, Mum, Dad," I greeted, forcing my expression to soften as I wiped the blood off. "I've been well. Busy, perhaps too much so as I haven't slept properly in days, but well. And it's only been a year since I last visited but Justine's grown so much." A soft chuckle escaped me. "Too much. She's more strong-willed than ever. Cogg told me recently she barely even needs her lab trainer anymore and she's only just begun her internship! I'm so proud of her, being able to juggle school and a job. And a social life, as well. She herself has become so much friendlier since last we talked, more joking…but it seems to have attracted a crowd of, well…interesting teenagers…" I sighed, closing my eyes as I crossed my arms and cocked my head to one side. "Though I don't admit it often, as a single father I wonder whether or not you two were bothered by my own interactions at school. Was there a friend you thought might have a bad influence on me? Try to hurt me? And now that the times have changed so much… What if Justine's poorly influenced? Or hurt? And I'm not there… Like right now… Aggh…" I uttered in a mix of growl and sigh, shaking my head. "Worrying about it gives me quite the headache so…I guess, and I'm only theorising, but I've been thinking lately, as a parent I should overlook certain negative possibilities to spare my daughter…" I rubbed my forehead with a thumb and pointer, wincing. "And myself… Anyhow… I don't usually have much to talk about with my job, but recently I've found myself involved in another mystery, one much like when I was investigating what had happened to you two. It involves murders and…myself I've now realised. The killer seems to be specifically targeting me. Why, is the question. And I do hope to understand it soon. As much as I'd like to see you two again," I gave a dry chuckle, "I'm not too keen on dying quite yet…"

To honour their deaths yet again, I fell silent, allowing only the distant sounds of the city to filter in as I closed my eyes and rested the roses in my free palm. The spring breeze drew through my hair, whispering of city scents and many memories—of those perfumed flowers my mother would plant, of the ink and stationary my father always seemed hunched over, of the restaurants we'd frequent, parks we'd visit, café's and markets and streets—all harkening back to a time my parents were alive. Some tragic recollections attempted to break through this moment but they were easier to tame now that I'd spent some time at the graves, once again accepting death's harsh reality.

After this moment of silence passed, I set the roses at the bases of the headstones before making my way to another grave. It wasn't her death anniversary but since I was here I thought I'd visit her as well. I walked over to another grave I knew the shape and colour of all too well.

'Here lies Constance Dove'

I read the strict serif font chiselled in grey. Much too serious for a woman of her wit and playful personality, I thought, smiling warmly. Just below was the date of her birth and death. I could still remember the latter date as if it was still only yesterday when my adoptive mother had passed. She had been much more than a replacement mother, that much was certain.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me," I whispered. Each time I visited, I made a habit of thanking her, ever since her death back when I was but Justine's age. My smile faded. "I will…always be sorry for using the wealth you provided me for such wrongdoing. I hope I have served my time well by rebuilding what I destroyed."

After one final moment of silence I decided it was about time I head home for the night. Not only was I famished enough to drop into one of the graves surrounding me, but Justine would resort to junk food if I didn't start supper soon…

I moved on, about to turn round when I noticed stuck to the back of one grave was a scrap of paper fluttering lazily in the breeze. _Another_ insect puzzle? Would it be a new one this time now that I'd solved the last ones? Perhaps a different breed of puzzle altogether?

Gripped with curiosity, I walked over to retrieve it, stooping and reaching out a hand. But just as my fingers grasped the bottom of the scrap out of the air I noticed another waving scrap catch my peripheral. And another. And another. I looked up.

On the backs of the graves before me for as far as I could see, scraps of paper fluttered, encircling me. Suddenly, an icy chill encased me from head to toe, freezing me in place as I glimpsed what they featured. These weren't insect puzzles. They were photographs… Photographs of a man… No… This couldn't be…

Slowly, dreading what I'd find, I glanced down to the photo in my fingers, moving my thumb from where it had covered what was inscribed. Another shock of ice coursed my veins and arteries. Brown hair, like mine. Brown eyes, like mine. A pointed nose. Slim in stature. A deep scar caused by that…that war machine, partially covered by left-swept bangs. All resembling mine. This was a man I no longer knew…one I'd left behind never to be seen again…or so I thought. This very man was the one who had destroyed London in a blind rage all those years ago.

This man was me.

Thanat was pacing about the underground laboratory, his Oxfords cracking out a harsh tattoo that echoed off the shadowed walls. Back and forth. Back and forth. Waiting for his spy to return. He glanced behind one of those shadowed walls. There lay the great professor he had captured. He eyed the man closer and scoffed. He was trembling in his bloodied cage, his emaciated, soiled form quivering. Great professor, indeed… The man couldn't even carry out a simple bloody task… And for this he had to involve his experiment. A gamble, especially if it ever saw behind the wall hiding the man. Even he would be in danger then… But this risk was necessary at this time. His plans could still be carried out. But… His already petrous expression hardened further. Where was it? His spy? How long did it take?! It was only testing Clive to solve the puzzle… He wasn't daft… Surely he was nearly done?!

"Mr Thanat?"

" _What is it?!_ " Thanat snarled, rounding on the person who dared interrupt his thoughts. When his blind rage cleared he saw his spy, who had taken a step back in fright at his bellow. He softened his expression considerably. "I do apologise for the outburst. I didn't mean to shout at you." "I do apologise for the outburst. I didn't mean to shout at you." He loathed apologising but…he simply had to… Especially if he wanted his plans to succeed. In the end it would pay off. He would utterly destroy Clive—from the inside-out. Only then would he be satisfied holding his lifeless body by the neck. The eye not behind his black patch narrowed. A treasure worth savouring after all that man had done. All in due time… "Please, report. I'll trust you have a lot of good news for me."

The spy, presently taking on the appearance of a young woman, straightened slowly, her alarm uplifted to an excited smile..

"Sure have! He's solved the first bit of the puzzle. Now he's onto a riddle." She slipped her hand into her pocket, searching for a moment. Then stopped. Again, her excitement melted away, replaced with concern and confusion as her eyes searched the floor.

Thanat, noticing this, at first glared at her, his narrowed eyes hard as obsidian. Then his rigid gaze softened once more.

"I know it's difficult," he said, his spy suddenly training her attention on him, bewildered. But his voice did not have the booming quality of grating rocks this time. "I know what it's like to lose those close to you."

"…You do…?" his spy ventured softly. "You've never told me…"

"My own family was taken from me due to a tragedy many years ago…" As Clive's face filled his mind's eye, Thanat's features hardened once more then became even more rigid as he winced, flashbacks pulsing inside his skull until it felt as if it would rupture. He quickly willed the horrid images away before the voices—those _damned_ voices—could surface, and, again, forced his features to loosen as he watched his spy with something that could only come close to compassion. "And like myself, there is a chance for you to find your loved ones once more." He scrutinised her. Despite his plans, he had to admit he truly did feel…something for the spy. A fatherly sort of bond he had at one time shared with his son—something he had nearly forgotten how to feel… And so he didn't want to lie to it. At the same time, he had to. For justice… "All it takes is spying on Clive and solving these puzzles."

His spy watched him for a long moment, taking in what he'd told her. They'd had this conversation before and she knew her duty, but Thanat had never explained his own past to her. She supposed then if he as willing to open up, even if it was just this small amount, that she could trust him. With this, she continued, upbeat once more as she searched her pocket again.

"I understand, Mr Thanat! So, as I was saying, Clive was reading some of that puzzle out while solving it so I was able to write down some words here and there." She withdrew her hand and offered Thanat a scrap of paper she'd written upon.

"Excellent," Thanat said, taking the piece.

"Sorry if it seems incomplete. It was kind of hard to hear him… Like, even when his lips were moving, I couldn't catch what he was saying. But other times I could…"

Thanat glanced quickly at his spy to see it thinking hard on this question. He knew exactly why it couldn't hear what Clive had been saying. It was the puzzle. The very notion of the thing was a mystery to everyone but those chosen…or those who stole. Such was the only reason he could now understand what was written as he turned his attention back to the scrap, scanning the scattered lines. It wasn't much but it would do for now. With it he could keep track of what Clive discovered. His features hardened once more, his white moustache dipping with his deepening frown. Clive may be one of the rare few who could solve the Guardian's puzzles, but that didn't mean he'd be the one to earn its rewards in the end…

"Is that all?" Thanat now queried his spy.

She nodded.

"Then continue your investigation until he's found the answer to this new riddle."

With this, Thanat turned and walked away. His expression now completely devoid of compassion as his plans came to the forefront of his mind yet again, he shot his hostage another piercing glare through the bars of his cage as he passed. He would have offered him one last chance to break Bill Hawks out of prison, but he couldn't speak to the man with his spy here. It didn't matter much anyway, he knew. The man would refuse in the end… That's why it was time.

"So…" he heard his spy begin a bit hesitantly, as she chewed her lip, "talking of my parents…is there any news on them yet…Mr Thanat, sir?"

Unseen by both spy and commander, the hostage shifted his tired, stinging, black-ringed eyes to the girl, alerted by her distant words. So…she wasn't partnered with them of her own accord. They were bribing her…with the promise of finding her parents, no less… He knew whatever came next, then, he couldn't blame her. It wasn't her fault… As someone who was adopted himself, he didn't know if he could have resisted the temptation of meeting his parents if someone had offered… But her parents… There had to be a way to let her know she was being used…before it was too late…

He watched Thanat, who didn't stop walking, searching for an opportunity to call the girl over. He hadn't had the chance before. Thanat had been keeping her from this room until now. He wondered why but he didn't have time to puzzle out this mystery. Right now he just had to get her attention…

But the man's plan was short-lived, dashed completely to pieces as he turned his attention back to Thanat.

"In due time," Thanat answered his spy. He then leaned behind a wall and dragged an unconscious elderly woman to her feet, her head lulling against her chest. He glanced to his spy to see the hopeful look in her eyes had not disappeared. Then he turned his gaze once more to the hostage whose pallid face had drained of any colour it had had left, a silent scream, held back only by the shock-collar at his throat, reflected in his wide eyes. He had expected nothing less. They'd already taken his granddaughter and son. Now it was time to start on those who had cared for him. "Firstly, though, I have a request for you." And with this, he snapped his fingers.

The clap of sound echoed about the spacious laboratory, bouncing off the walls until it faded away. But it hadn't truly disappeared. Instead, it acted like a signal, resonating with his spy, his experiment.

First to go was that innocent expression of hers, her eyes rolling back into her head as she gasped in fear. Her placid demeanour was next, her lips pulling at the corners into a deep frown, her brow furrowed in an expression somewhere between trepidation and hatred. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, her nails digging into the fabric of her shirt as she folded over, her mouth open only slightly, a low groan of agony escaping between her teeth.

And then the transformation began. Her fingers began to extend, bones snapping, sinew stretching as the joints jerked into long, grotesque claws. Her nails, too, elongated, cutting into the fabric of her shirt as they turned pointed and deadly, now tipped with flame. Her face and jaws expanded until they were both canine and fowl in appearance, her cuspids now sharp, like those of a wolf, ready to rip and tear. As she lifted her chin and howled at the ceiling, shaking the single lamp above until it swung to and fro, she opened her eyes wide, the whites free of iris and pupil, glowing golden like molten bronze. Her shoulder-length hair grew thick and long. It was impeded only by the hairband but such a fragile fastening was quickly expanded beyond its limits until it snapped and her hair continued to grow, ceasing only when it was as long as her body. It set itself alight, becoming the embodiment of fire itself.

As soon as the transformation had begun, it concluded, leaving the once timid young woman a blazing, writhing beast, shrieking into the night. Thanat watched his experiment with solemn pride, his stony expression lit by the flames emanating from it. Even a double-edged sword could be more a blessing than a hindrance at times… He looked to his hostage one last time to see the man's wild eyes staring at the beast that would soon kill his adoptive mother.

"I warned you, didn't I?" he murmured to the quivering man, though he had no intention of being heard. He released the unconscious woman from his grasp, letting her fall to the floor where she lay still. Until she began to awaken.

And the last things she heard were a snap, an inhuman howl, perhaps the scream of a man she knew…before she was cloven in two.


	8. Chapter 7

Monstrous. Horrific. Catastrophic. There was much more that could describe this… _abomination_ , but any label for it would always equate one thing: The epitome of evil.

From underground the miscreation had erupted, as if ascending from the depths of Hell itself, its hulking head crowned in cannons like horns that pierced the clouds above, its towering body a twisting, contorting amalgamate of steel and ironwork marred by indents that hosted yet more cannons. Even at this magnitude, its uprising had been swift. So swift, no one could have guessed from where it had come. So unexpected no one could have foreseen it. Just one of the massive legs that exploded forth from under London's streets massacred thousands who had been petrified in utter shock. But those who quickly evacuated began to speculate.

'It's as if it arose from the earth's core, like some fiery beast in a film!' thought a man climbing around entire heaps of buildings, burning debris and bodies of the dead as he fled with his family.

'Maybe it dropped from the sky, like in that play with the four horsemen riding steeds of flame!' imagined a child hiding her face in her mother's chest, shielding her eyes from the sight of the rifted, blood-soaked streets.

This, however, was neither movie set nor act from a simple script. This was reality. A reality the capital city, already so steeped in bloody history and war, had never seen before. And it was far from over.

The monstrosity continued to claw and scrape out of its vast crater consuming an entire middle portion of the city, the grating of metal against rock positively stentorian as it rose past crowds of people—some screaming as they attempted to run, some already dead. Finally, it stood, towering over all, belching black smoke and steam from its exhaust into the ash-suffused atmosphere. Its form gleamed in the moonlight it obscured as it looked down upon London—its prey. Its shadow loomed, over buildings, over homes, markets, parks, restaurants—everything. The city would soon be swallowed whole by destruction.

 _"Please… Make yourselves comfortable,"_ said a young man in his early twenties. With arched form and arms clasped behind his back he emanated authority. He was, after all, the commander of this war machine. _"Sit back and relax. You won't be leaving anytime soon…"_ He stood amidst the company of many cameras, all trained on him so he could relay to two very special pawns, Professor Layton and his young assistant Luke, that there was no use stopping him. The plans he had concocted, obsessed over, for five long, gruelling years… Plans that climaxed in his destroying that _killer's_ city… They were coming to fruition. _"Take a good look at London,"_ he grinned wickedly, an inextinguishable, wild conflagration burning in the depths of his eyes. Just like the one that had taken his parents' lives. _"This will be your last chance!"_

All it took was the flip of a switch. The hundreds, thousands of missiles that rocketed from the machine's cannons seemed to hang in the air for but a moment. Then they crashed down upon the city with a calliopean explosion, sending blasts of dirt, houses, personal effects, people high into the sky, rocking London to its very core. Nothing would be left standing. No one would survive. This bloody place would be reduced to ashes. And he didn't care about it… Any of it! He just wanted to destroy—

Another missile blew apart a fleeing family—

 _—Destroy—_

A spiked leg decimated an entire street of buildings with one step forward—

 _—DESTROY!_

I gasped. I was violently thrown back into my own time as those all too familiar, all too vivid flashbacks released their grip on me. They slithered back where they had come from the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind but they had left my body and senses a mess. My chest heaved with each hiccupping breath. My heart hammered against my ribs. My form trembled. The stench of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. I could smell it. Practically taste it, alongside the saline tincture of sweat and tears. My face had drained of all blood. Cold. Clammy. My eyes were wide, unblinking, staring at that which had caused such an episode: my own, much younger face. I swallowed hard past a lump in my throat.

Slowly, my wits returned to me, helped along as I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. In…and out… In…and out… I forced myself to believe my flashbacks were not occurring at this present time. I was not commanding a war machine to kill. No one was in danger of my unyielding rampage… My heartbeat began to regulate.

When I felt I could make another attempt at facing my past I opened my eyes. This time I didn't just look to the photograph affixed to the grave. I analysed it. Broke it down into bits and pieces my still troubled mind could easily digest. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Skin tanned from long hours and hard work under a beating sun. An appearance that was always five years too young, due in part to an oval face and in part to such a thin stature. Yes, it was me. Me when I had taken my mugshots as I was admitted to prison.

I had been incarcerated for a very long time…for crimes against my own city. And it was those crimes I had just seen flashing behind my eyes. Those horrific recollections… I had attempted to exact revenge. On a scientist. On a politician. I scowled. On a selfish, greedy _bastard_! I shook my head, instantly regretting what I'd thought. What would the Professor say? But I couldn't help returning to the topic like scratching at a healing wound. This…man, Bill Hawks… He had wronged me in more ways than one. And it had taken me quite a while to learn of these misdeeds.

When I had been much, much younger, just a lad, I'd been walking home from school when I heard sirens—multiple—off in the distance. A sense of urgency had gripped me, insisting I run, but I continued to walk calmly for home. Surely it was nothing…

It was only when another fire engine's siren behind me joined in the noise as it rushed past that I began to bolt…and learnt that what I had initially thought was nothing had actually turned out to be a very catastrophic tragedy that would forever change my life.

I remember turning the corner, still hoping my fears were just that—fears and nothing more. Nothing real. And then I saw it. My feet skidded to a halt when I witnessed the twisting, writhing flames. My flat was on fire.

I looked round in a daze, my sights bobbing all over—to a man yelling for help amongst the suddenly crowded streets, to the cluster of fire engines, to my burning flat, to another building on fire only a few metres away—searching in vain for my parents. I wanted to continue running. But I couldn't. Despite the dry heat that swept off the conflagration in waves, making my skin feel feverish, I was cold. Frozen to the pavement. I couldn't find my parents. They were gone… They were dead! I began to cry.

"…boy…"

There was a voice…

"…alright, boy…?"

I forced my sobs to stop, managing to reduce them to sniffles as I looked up with stinging eyes at who had addressed me.

"What's your name?" a man in a top hat asked. "Are you alright? You don't appear hurt…"

He had an arm around me. He was consoling me. I felt like crying even harder.

And then, as my flat began to crumble, toppling down into itself, a thought occurred to me. A horrible, terrible thought. What if my parents weren't dead? What if…they were still inside…?

What happened after this comes to me in bits in pieces. The feeling of overwhelming, sickening panic. My own screams. The man—Professor Layton—holding me back as I attempted to run for the flat. A slap across the face, hard enough to sting my cheek even now.

These memories were patchy at best, but what I do know was the Professor had saved me that night. And this single act of heroism had allowed me to live on…and remember very clearly that none of this crisis—the deaths, the destruction, the fire, nothing—was ever covered in the newspapers.

It was due to this lack of newsworthy information that I had decided, a few years after my very wealthy adoptive mother Constance had passed away, to enter journalism as a young teenager. I hadn't needed the money. I didn't want the money. What I wanted were answers.

And so, during the day I'd cover stories as I did now, but at night I spent my time investigating the archives, searching tirelessly, toiling in hopes of finding even one article detailing that fateful moment everything had been ripped away from me. Eventually, my persistence and cunning paid off. I came upon what I had only dreamt of finding—the truth.

But the truth was not as liberating as I had hoped. Documented in those articles was what had happened that night. That Bill Hawks, a scientist, had been testing a time machine to sell off to a group for a large sum of money. That the machine had not been ready. That it had exploded, killing many—including my parents. That he had so desperately fought to avoid taking responsibility, using his wealth to pay as many people as it took to keep this event secret…

With his past buried, Hawks was allowed to scale the governmental ranks and earn even more money. And once prime minister of London he utilised not only wealth, but also brute force to take down anyone who dared uncover that dirt. Investigative reporters, police, other politicians, even victims of the incident… None were spared.

This truth I had sought… I had gone into this wanting a name and face I could bury, put to rest alongside my parents. Instead, I had dug up a curse. This was a nightmare. A farce! I had wished. It had to be! The prime minister of London—our leader—a murderer? Not just a murderer but…the one who had taken my parents' lives… It couldn't be possible!

But after wrestling with it day and night for months, a period of time in which I personally interviewed Hawks himself on several occasions, I realised how real this corruption was. And the fact such a corrupt man was now our leader… I couldn't bear it…

Something in me snapped.

Soon enough I was devising a plan for revenge. I became obsessive, completely possessed. I lost weight. I lost sleep. I lost my sanity. I brooded over my scheme while constantly prodding at my mind was the truth and what it meant for me. What it meant for the people of London. How I was the only one who could save them. How justice _must_ be delivered.

Justice… Back then I'd called it that, but… I gave a dry chuckle. Rather violent and selfish for justice… No. It had been revenge, clear as ice and just as cold. So bold, so… _insane_ was my vengeance that I had been blind to my actions—of concocting a plot involving time travel, spending millions to construct a fake London of the future, using this Future London like a chessboard to move around my pawns—other people—wherever I needed them, expending the Professor and his apprentice Luke as two of those pawns, the monstrosity—the finale of my revenge—I'd forced other scientists to cobble together, destroying both my fake London and the real London and massacring innocent citizens… All to teach one man a lesson. I glanced away from the photograph. My past was quite the burden to bear…

But… I couldn't keep blaming myself, I was reminded not for the first time since my road to recovery. I had done my best over these many years to atone. Though I had become the very man I loathed, I, at least, had allowed myself to be sent to prison, served my time, rebuilt what I'd destroyed. All with my own hands. To continue blaming myself would result in living my life in the past. And I didn't wish to go back there.

As I willed these memories away with this thought, I looked back into the eyes of the man I'd once been, staring him down. Challenging him. He represented my mistakes, my past. Yet again, I needed to find the strength to distance myself from all three. It was time I started pondering something of much more importance. I had a murderer to stop. Retrieving a notepad from my back pocket, I promptly returned to my mystery.

Similar to the other beginning leads for this murder case, my initial line of questioning regarding these photographs should be very simplistic. I needed a general idea of what this entailed for the case, if anything at all. Once again, my journalistic skills would come in rather handy here.

As I penned out my trusty 'who', 'what', 'where', 'when', 'why' and 'how', I found a couple answers were obvious. What was it? A photograph of myself. Where? In the graveyard. But, as always, there were other questions that required a bit more reflection. Why had they been placed here? My best educated guess concluded they were a message to me. After all, some of the many photographs fluttering in the breeze were affixed to the graves of the people I'd killed in my blind paroxysm. That seemed a pretty clear tacit implication from the one who had done this that they were not happy with my past actions. And who was this mystery person? Perhaps the killer about London right now? Or perhaps…it could even be Mr Tysan… A thought of my phone call with the man earlier this morning came to mind, reminding me of his hesitation and anxiety when I'd mentioned his journal. There were secrets in there he hadn't wanted anyone else to know—especially me. Certainly this gave him a motive… My suspicions of him only increased.

After I jotted down my newest theory on Tysan, I had begun to consider the 'when'. But before I could really venture down that path of questioning, I recalled something else. Something that made my heart pump even faster with blood turned to ice. 'How'. I recorded this single word slowly. These photographs… They weren't exactly something just anyone could get hold of. In fact, there shouldn't even be more than one. Firstly, because it was an identification photo for prison and… I clenched my jaw. Secondly…for that _other_ reason that had been prodding at the back of my mind for quite some time now… Years, in fact… I hardly allowed it to surface as it had seemed to be nothing but a great cause of stress without answers for a long while. With this newest development, however, I supposed now was the time to confront it once again. I hesitantly allowed a memory to surface, glancing about quickly to see more people were filtering into the graveyard. I'd have to be careful not to let too much emotion show on my face now while I ventured into my past once more…

While awaiting a trial, I recalled, Professor Layton used to visit me every now and then. He'd tell me of his newest adventure, of remarkable finds on earlier digs, the occasional classroom story and of course he'd offer a puzzle or two. I couldn't thank him enough. This was the third time in my life he had provided both comfort and sanity to mollify my utter distress.

During future visits, however, I'd started to notice something about his personality. So subtle it had been I'd nearly missed it. But the skill of observance I'd been honing for when I stepped foot into that…cursed barred dungeon wouldn't allow the Professor's behaviours to go unnoticed. His posture had become more rigid. His warm and calm comportment turned cold, hard and serious. He smiled less. At the time, I'd left it. Perhaps he was simply mulling over a particularly difficult mystery, I'd thought.

I'd been wrong.

It was only one visit later when I'd noticed how pale and sickly he'd become. Having had enough seeing the man I revered looking so troubled, I decided to enquire…but the answer I had received might as well have fallen on deaf ears.

 _"I've…been working to obscure your name from the media, Clive… London's destruction will be buried and you will never be associated with it. You won't have to worry about anyone seeing you as a criminal…"_

I could still remember the shock of ice that had coursed my insides upon hearing this. But within this chill…there had been a complacent relief so warm and inviting. Did I feel liberated knowing I would not have to live with such a blemish on my life? If it could all just be swept away like dust under a rug? Certainly… But for me to stand above the man who had ruined my life, for _true_ justice, I knew I had to allow my name to be seen. In every paper. On all the news channels. Everyone had to know it was me who had destroyed their lives so I could not only rise from the ashes of my past, but also so no victim that night of my revenge would have to suffer what I had as a child, wandering the streets, crying out for my parents, questioning to obsession why this had happened to me and who could have done such a thing.

And so, after recovering from my alarm, I implored the Professor rethink his decision. I warned him of the consequences. That this was what Hawks himself had done. That thousands of people would go mad searching for the truth. That a gentleman should know better. This last bit had caught his attention. I could see recollections of the woman whom he had loved flashing behind his eyes. She, too, had been caught up in Hawks' selfish deeds.

In the end, however, no amount of pleading could change his mind. He'd turned from me and walked away, a finality which I had never truly forgotten.

I returned from this memory. Why the Professor had done this when it was so against his personality, his very morals, I couldn't have guessed at that point. Even now, I was having a difficult time thinking of a reason. Maybe there was another event in the Professor's life that had forced him into it? Maybe the destruction of London itself had given him reason to…? I thought again of Tysan. Of the record in his journal of the Mobile Fortress and how nervous he'd become when I'd told him I knew of it. Just earlier I'd surmised he had been the one to place my photos on the graves, but…could he have, in fact, been the one who told the Professor to conceal them? But what authority did he have over the Professor?

In any case, at least I now had a definite answer for why no one knew of London's fall or the one behind it. The Professor had gone through with his answer to me that night and my mugshots and actions had been hidden from the media after all. This brought me back to my original enquire. I looked to my own face on that photo once more. So if the Professor had concealed them and Tysan wanted them hidden away just as much, why were they here, out in the public for everyone to see?

Despite my fervent desire for answers, I knew I couldn't continue on this line of questioning with all this conjecture. I wrote down these questions and decided perhaps it was best to leave it for now and return to the 'When' of the matter.

I reread the reminder I'd penned just before veering off on the 'how'. The entirety of the 'when' relied on whether or not the person who had done this—maybe Tysan, maybe not—didn't mind these photos being seen. If they didn't, then the time wasn't an issue. If they did, then matters were a bit more complicated. They would have to know quite a bit about me. About my past. That I had lost my parents. That I had been the one to destroy London. And my present. That I would come to this graveyard today. They would have needed specifics, like my daily schedule. When I went to work and when I came home. That I would visit my parents this very day at 5.00pm. Tysan may possibly know what I'd done, but he didn't know where I worked or that my parents were no longer alive. So he would have needed to have a spy or be the spy to have learnt this. But how could he be so precise? Especially when I'd been fairly careful about making certain I wasn't followed…

"…could have happened…?"

I glanced to my side. A bloke and a woman with him, presumably his wife, had just walked up and were stood at a nearby grave. Between them I read over the name of a deceased loved one at the top of the headstone, an epitaph, the date of birth and then… I noticed the date of death was covered by one of my photographs. So, they'd died at my hand… For a moment I felt a deep grief and regret attempt to drag me back down to that dark place from where I'd just risen, but as I listened in closer to their conversation, I realised the man's question had not been asked in sorrow.

"It's almost like it's been sanded off…" said the woman.

"Who would do such a thing? And to a grave no less…"

I couldn't quite understand. Sanded off? The date of death? I turned my head to get a better view as the man knelt at the headstone and ran his hand over my photograph a couple times. He stood again and said to his wife in sheer disbelief, "It's completely gone. It really has been sanded off! Well…we'll have to order a new one… Bloody kids, I suppose…"

He had placed his hand directly on the photo but hadn't seen or felt it… Something seemed familiar about that… And in seconds I had made the connection. I narrowed my eyes dryly as I pulled one of the insect puzzles from my pocket, examining it. Yes, very familiar, indeed… Just like the insects, only _I_ could see these photos…

And though I understood this based upon the theories I'd tested in these past few days, I still found myself questioning the parameters of this invisibility. With the insects this made sense (well…it didn't, but at least more sense than this…) The insects I'd never seen before. As strange as it still seemed, they could have been created by someone or something that allowed them to be visible only to one person. But these photographs… They were of me. And they were taken by a London prison, not some otherworldly person or object…. But, as I'd just witnessed, they were visible only to myself. This truly seemed to be the case. And it seemed, then, my 'When' was answered.

'The time the photographs were placed on the graves doesn't matter.' I penned. 'The photographs are invisible just like the insect puzzles.'

This brought to mind a whole new onslaught of 'how's I wasn't sure I could answer. I still decided it best to write at least one down beside my 'When' note. I now knew a previously very real, very visible photograph had the same invisible properties as the insect puzzle. And I had just learnt at work only hours ago that I was only able to see these puzzles because the author of them had chosen me. So was there some way the author could be part of this as well? Could the powers, the Guardian Scroll and Tysan himself all be involved?

There was only one way to find out, I thought with grave solemnity. Interviewing Tysan tomorrow. Considering my suspicions Tysan was the killer and that our interview was after most school hours, I may very well be in danger if my assumptions were true. But I had to be willing to take that risk. I had to do everything I could to close this case which it seemed only I had the clues to solve. I had built a war machine with the intent to throw my life away if need be to fulfil my goals. I had been in prison for nearly thirty years. If I could survive all that then I could survive any attack made by a desperate man.

These thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a rather drawn out squelching. I wrapped an arm around my stomach, my concentration fading as the fatigue I had been ignoring took its toll. I hadn't slept well in the past few days with all this mystery-solving on my mind and during lunch I'd been deciphering the insect puzzle instead of eating. I couldn't help feeling a bit self-satisfied. I may be famished and exhausted, but at least I'd been successful in finding an answer to that! And it was just waiting at home for me to continue analysing. My expression hardened once more. Before that, however, I had to keep focused on adding all these new theories to my wall of notes. Organisation was key in this convoluted puzzle. I eyed the two questions I still had yet to answer. 'Who' was involved with these photos—both the person who had wanted them concealed and the person who had uncovered them. And 'How' had they become involved? I needed to find solutions for these, as well… I couldn't very well complete this puzzle with such important pieces missing. I should head home, eat a good supper and finally sleep properly. I needed all my wits about me not only to research but also for when I questioned Tysan about his journal. He fit into all this somehow. He had to…

With all this on my mind, I braved the London five o' clock traffic, arriving home nearly ten minutes later to…quite an odd sight. Justine was sat quietly at the kitchen table, reading. No Fayne. No Evelyne. No other friends I may not even know about yet. Just her. And no video games either. No internet or videos. No music. Rather quiet for this time a day…

"Hey, Dad," she greeted as she quickly glanced up from her book then back down again. I could tell straight away her smile was fake, as if to hide something. I hope I was only projecting my own worries onto her or I would have to be concerned about something she was keeping from me. I really didn't need any extra stress right now…

"Evening, Just," I greeted after slipping off my Oxfords. Setting up the oven to preheat I said, "How about some salmon burgers for supper?" And as my stomach gave another drawn out squelch in protest I added, "and some rice? Veg? Potatoes and carrots? Peas and corn too. Mmm, I was also thinking about another side dish. Perhaps some stew? And maybe a sandwich? Ham and cheese with lettuce. Maybe some—"

"Dad, isn't that kind of a lot?" Justine asked, baffled.

I thought the list over once more. On the way home, besides attempting to answer some of the questions I'd not been able to in the graveyard, I'd planned out what we'd have and I suppose it had made me that much more famished. I had nearly sounded like a certain apprentice—a little gourmand he was—whom I'd impersonated for my revenge. But if Justine found out I was this hungry from skipping breakfast and lunch in order to research, she would certainly rip all my notes into bits this time…

"I suppose you're right," I said hastily. "I was getting a bit carried away, wasn't I? Anyway…" In changing the subject, I decided it was time I try figuring out what she might be hiding. "A bit strange not seeing you play any video games. I'm so used to coming home to the sounds of white mages casting magic spells and warriors clashing sword against sword and the explosions and screeching of felled monsters. Are you taking a break from gaming for a bit?"

She laughed as if this was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. I knew for a fact it was. And so, my trap was in place…

"Of course not, Dad! I've got far too many games to finish. I still have one last boss to defeat before I bring my team to assail the Opaquest Oubliette. And I have a few more levels left of Liberty World. And I need to get to level 96 of Uso. It's been a long time coming…" I watched her tick each game off on a finger, both satisfied and amused. "I have to get the good endings for Light CD and Light Mania yet. And then there's the matter of finishing Kokotora; very Cavern Tale-esque, so kind of unforgiving at times. Then it's onto the sequel. There's four of them and I've been saving up for the fourth once I get there. I also need to play through Luminary Epic again before they release the remake. Then there's the remake of Asteroid's second game. And then this cute little puzzle game series I've been following. It's already out on mobile, but I'm going to wait for the console version so I can get through some of these other games." She folded her arms with a pleased smile of her own. "So as you can see, I have a lot on my plate."

I snickered. "Is that so? If you have so many games left to finish, why aren't you playing any right now?"

Her thin eyes widened, then upon realising she'd been lured in, she squinted disapprovingly at me, defensively folding her arms.

"Well, I'm…holding off for tonight…"

I lifted an eyebrow. Her façade was beginning to crack…

"And…why's that?"

Her crossed arms tightened. "I…have a lot of homework…

"But you're not doing homework. You're reading at the kitchen table. It's almost as if you're passing time, waiting for something or…someone?

She hesitated then looked away and mumbled. "I'm going…Fay…"

"Eh?"

"I'm going out to eat with Fayne, okay!"

My satisfied expression completely vanished upon hearing this.

"What's this? And you didn't let me know?" The thought of my call with Mr Tysan and his possible intentions suddenly popped back into my mind and the words slipped out of their own accord. "I'd really rather you not see him anymore."

"What?" Justine cried. "You _can't_ be serious, Dad!"

I considered retracting that last sentence. She now knew due to our talk a few nights ago that I didn't care for Fayne, but that didn't mean I needed to keep her from seeing him. I decided against this, however. Fayne may not be in on the murders but for my daughter to be around the Tysan family at all right now worried me. And I couldn't let her know I suspected Fayne's family as this would only upset her further, so I opted for another excuse. I glanced outside.

"What did I say about you going out so late?"

"It's not even that late!" she swiftly countered.

"Late enough to get dark in about an hour or so. And I know you'll be out with him longer than that…"

She glared up at me. "This is why I didn't want to mention anything! You're so…!" But she quickly cut herself off and looked away again as she muttered, "What's your deal, Dad…?" For a split second I saw her expression flicker between anger and calm but just as her clouded expression cleared, it grew stormy once more as she turned back to me, her resistance in full swing. "And you know what? Talk about late! The only reason I'm doing this is because I didn't know when you'd be home. Funny, though, how I'm required to let _you_ know when _I'm_ meant to be home but not the other way round…"

My own features tightened now. "Justine…"

"Look. It's not like I'm doing this out of disrespect! I just want to be able to do some things without you getting worried!"

"It sure seems like disrespect when you don't listen! I told you not to go out when it's about to get dark! Not with a bloody murderer on the loose!"

"Well, you were the one to scare Fayne so he wouldn't go the other night before the murders were even an issue to you!"

"If I remember correctly you left all on your own because of some headaches…kind of like the ones you're getting now…?"

"…But…I had been planning on going before you busted in like some gunman and ruined everything!"

"Everything?!"

"Ey up, all!"

Justine and I rounded on this new voice, shouting in unison, "Not now!" and Fayne, who had just stepped in, quickly retreated back outside.

I turned back to Justine, folding my arms as I fixed her in a firm look. "I said only last night I'd let you go out late, but not again. It's about to get dark. You'll have to go earlier on a different night."

"C'mon, Dad! We won't be _that_ long…"

"Tell Fayne to head home."

"What?"

My brow furrowed for but a split second as a thought of the murderer came to mind.

"Now."

"You're being ridiculous, Dad!"

I looked her in the eye, the persistent fire in mine fighting against that in hers. "I said now, Justine. Or you're grounded."

For a moment she watched me with a glare of disbelief then just the slightest expression of hurt crossed her features before she got up and walked for the door.

I watched her go. With each step she took guilt squeezed my heart tighter and tighter, practically crushing it once she stepped outside. I nearly gave in and rushed out to apologise. But as I did, I stopped in my tracks and thought for a moment. She'd been surprisingly calm, not stomping out and slamming the door. _Too_ calm… Was she perhaps planning something…? It would be best if I listened on the other side to make sure…

"…Didn't mean to yell…" I heard Justine's muffled apology to Fayne. "It's just…Dad…"

"No' a probl-em, Justine. You an' Miste' Dove musta bin…fightin'…"

"N-No… I wouldn't call it fighting. He's just…worried all the time. 'Cuz of these…bloody murders…"

"Oh… Oh! Ar' yea okay, Justine?"

I suspected Fayne had said this because he'd seen Justine suffering from those headaches again. Every time the murders popped up, she seemed overcome with them… My guilt returned. What happened to her parents was still buried in her unconscious and any mention of violence probably brought the topic to the front of her mind…

"I'm fine… Don't worry about it…"

"…Okay… Was…Miste' Dove mad at me, too?"

"Probably not. More angry with me than anything if he let his emotions show like that…"

"Tha's good… Ah mean… it's no' good for you, bu'…well… Anyways… Ar'… Ar' we still on fer tonigh'?"

"I can't… Dad wanted me to tell you to go home."

"Why…?"

"He doesn't want me to see you anymore," Justine said with exasperation. "'Cuz he doesn't like you or something stupid…"

"Wha…? Why?!" Fayne nearly cried.

"Pff. I don't know… I don't know what his deal is! He thinks you're ungentlemanly or something. Like, what era do you live in? 1800s?! Bloody hell!"

There's nothing wrong with being gentlemanly! I wanted to protest. And just who taught her that foul language?!

"Ah… But Ah…"

"Don't take it too personally, Fayne. He doesn't like anyone."

That's not true! I like…some people…

"O…Okay… But…yer jokin', righ'…? Ah'm no' a…bad kid…"

"Yeah… I know Fayne. He's probably just overreacting 'cuz he's got other things on his mind…"

"O…Okay… I 'ope so…"

"Me too…"

I was feeling even guiltier. Perhaps I should have retracted that sentence after all…

"So… Since Miste' Dove's bin kinda strict on yea, ar' we still goin' t' prom a' leas'?"

And my guilt fell away. Prom? Surely the school wasn't thinking of hosting one with a murderer about?! In any case, if they were, I could _not_ allow Justine to go!

"Shh! Don't say that too loud! Dad might hear…" You bet he might… There was a bit of hesitation, I was guessing so Justine could gauge if it was okay to continue speaking on this subject, then she continued and my anger only increased. "Yes, I am…"

"Ee, brillien'! He's le' yea go then?"

"No! Not with those…murders going on… I'm gonna have to sneak out, see?"

And the moment I heard this I didn't really mind how tough on her I had been over the past few days. Clearly it wasn't tough enough when she was getting up to something like this!

"Ooo… Beau'iful _an'_ rebellious… Ah like it!"

Eugh… Let me die…

I heard a prompt _snap!_ and Justine say in teasing laughter, "Stop, you silly twit! Not here…" What in the world was going on?!

I had half a mind to charge out the door. Then I realised this would only fuel Justine's rebellion. Letting on that I'd eavesdropped, imposing even more rules… It wouldn't help. But… what was a father to do…? Justine may understand what it was like to lose a mother and father, but she didn't know the anxiety, the necessity for order and rules, that came with being a parent. My desire wasn't to crush her happiness. It was to protect her from a looming threat. The two may criss-cross and clash at times, but I couldn't help that! I stepped up to the oven and began to cook to take my mind off this. I was just trying to keep her safe…

When Justine finally came back in, I knew she was still upset with me. I didn't need my finely tuned keen eye to see that. I barely even needed eyes. The anger that exuded off her in waves was practically palpable. She was trying to hide it, but the microexpressions that continuously crossed her face for but a split second—eyebrows angling, the deepening of her frown, her fingers tightening as she crossed her arms—gave away how very disappointed she was.

And now that she was right before me, despite her plot to sneak out behind my back, my earlier crushing guilt nearly ground me to bits. That expression of hurt, of upturned brow and shimmer of humiliated tears in the eye… She'd never willingly let that show… Because of this I felt I was probably in the wrong. Maybe I could have let up a bit? Even complied perhaps…? I suppose, if I truly thought about it, it must be disappointing to not only tell a friend she couldn't go out because 'Dad said so' but also because her plans had been ruined a second time this week. Perhaps even mortifying… Just as she didn't know what it was like to experience the anxiety of a parent, I didn't know how it felt to be a teenager who had to dismiss a friend. In my youth, I'd been too troubled by my parents' deaths and then, once adopted, too busy with my schemes to be worried about making many plans with friends… Maybe I really should have let her go…

Then I recalled the crime scene from this morning, how just before heading there I'd thought Justine had been the victim. That she would be the subject of the autopsy report. Her cold, dead body lying in a coffin. Her face I'd never see again… Her voice I'd never hear again… Even now goose pimples traced up and down my arms as the emotions returned. A single moment of dread freezing eternity in place. No, I couldn't bear it… Though her happiness was important to me, I'd rather she be disappointed and alive than happy she got to go out and…the alternative…

Because of such a conflicting situation, during supper I tried to restore the mood. It was hard going, requiring me to endure long silences after asking a question or making a joke. Not to mention the occasional 'Dad, are you serious…?' look—a very special mixture of my two favourites: rolled eyes and pointed glare—as she pushed bits of her salmon burger round her plate. She was more upset than I'd first thought if she wasn't even eating her favourite meal… Yet again, I was tempted to apologise but held back. I wouldn't. I couldn't! Not when her safety was my first priority. She knew there was a killer out there. If she wanted to pretend he didn't exist because of fears she still had yet to face, then so be it. But I had faced my fears… I knew and accepted the truth and would not willingly allow her to head into harm's way.

Eventually my persistence paid off. After a drawn-out sigh and then a reluctant though enormous bite out of her burger, Justine finally gave in.

"You know what, Dad?" she said, finishing off the burger in one last bite before grabbing another. "These are pretty good. Did you add something to them?"

"Just a drop of mayonnaise to give the flavour a bit of a kick." I chuckled, straightening my tie. "And, of course, the most important ingredient: fatherly love."

At this she promptly pushed the burger to the edge of her plate, screwing up her face.

"I take it back. They're actually really disgusting."

We looked at each other a moment before smiles we couldn't help spread across our faces and soon we were sharing a laugh.

And now that the mood had lifted, I felt much lighter. I knew this sort of conflict would most likely come again sometime as Justine grew more independent by the hour. Not to mention she was graduating and moving on to university where she'd be even more prone to experiencing the world's dangers… But I took this opportunity to accept our battle was over for now. My brow creased. I had something else entirely to worry about anyway… My interview. Certainly, it wasn't until tomorrow, but I had to be prepared. And that meant not only satisfying my human needs but also keeping the mood light so as not to alert Justine.

Because of this, I continued to joke around with her as I asked about her day. But unfortunately for me, this strategy had the complete opposite effect of what I had intended. By the time we had both finished supper, she was watching me a bit warily, as if she knew I was now the one hiding something.

"You know, Dad," she began as I finished the last of a salad I'd assembled after eating two burgers, a generous helping of potatoes and veg, some stew and a ham and cheese sandwich, "I find it very strange you're actually eating for once."

I put my head to one side. "What do you mean? I may have been a bit busy this week, but I've been eating properly." I recalled just today I'd sacrificed both breakfast and lunch, both sacrifices made because of my current mystery, and, with a sidelong glance, quietly added, "Well, more or less…"

"Exactly, 'more or less'. Recently you haven't been eating because of that puzzle…"

I folded my arms in defiance. "Name a time I haven't eaten this week."

"I had to drag you away from your computer a few nights ago for supper. At half-eight, by the way."

"Okay, but I still eventually ate."

"Only after I took your notes on that puzzle away."

"What about—"

"And supper yesterday too… I had to take those notes away so you'd eat." She looked at me as if I was being interrogated. "And when you came in you listed off a whole bunch of food…as if you were starving… Which you were!" she threw a hand out to present several cleaned off plates and bowls I'd stacked before me. "Look how much you ate! I'm guessing that has something to do with you skipping breakfast and then lunch at work, probably all due to your notes on that puzzle!" I blinked. So very observant… Forget Inspector Brown. Get Justine on this murder case! She continued. "That's what's so funny. You're not distracted for once. Who are you and what have you done with Dad?!"

So much for keeping those notes from entering the conversation… In an effort to change the subject, I said, "Well you can't exactly whinge about it now…" I patted my full stomach, stifling a burp. "I'm positively stuffed!" I then stood and took our plates to the sink before nonchalantly shoving my hands in my pockets and heading out of the kitchen. I glanced back at Justine who was squinting at me. She put fore- and middle fingers together, pointing them to her eyes and then at me. I flashed her an innocent smile.

At least she didn't know specifically why those notes weren't a topic of discussion and as I headed for the study, I thought maybe it was unfair of me to keep my plans to interview Tysan—and the danger in doing so—from her knowledge. But there was no point in worrying her, I justified my own actions. She couldn't stop me anyway. I had to do this. I was the only one who could solve this mystery, and if that meant putting myself in harm's way, then so be it. If something happened to me, she was independent enough to figure something out. Maybe go live with 'Uncle' Cogg. Possibly even solve this case in my place. Though the very topic of the insect puzzles and their messages were invisible, maybe because she was adopted by me, she might be able to read my notes, alert the Inspector somehow of what only I'd been able to find.

I wouldn't, however, want for her to be in the same danger, so while I was still alive to protect her, I would keep quiet no matter how suspicious she became. A thought of this morning and my fears Justine had been the victim revisited me yet again, like an unwanted guest. I'd be beside myself if she was murdered. I'd go mad… Possibly plot out another insane revenge to destroy one man's life while the lives of many were tangled in the mix. I would essentially become the killer I was hunting down…and I couldn't let that happen again.

Eager to dismiss these haunting thoughts as I entered my study, I quickly shut the door, as if this could keep my more negative reflections out, and promptly set to work. I retrieved my notepad from my back pocket and seated myself, flipping a few pages until I found my blank 'Who' and 'How'. Now that I had eaten and just a tad of energy had returned, it was time I attempted answering them yet again.

I refreshed myself by reading over what I already had. The photos were most likely a message to me. Not only were they placed on some of the graves of the people I'd killed, but they were also only visible to me. And the Professor, possibly also Tysan, had been involved in obscuring them. This brought up other questions. Could the Professor and Tysan also see them? Did that mean they were chosen by the author of the insect messages as well? Why? That single word just continued to return, didn't it…? Why involve the Professor? Why would he go through with it? I'd surmised whilst in the graveyard that an event in his life might have influenced him but after thinking on it all the way home, I remembered he had been through much already. His mother's death. His father's betrayal. His brother's identity. The loss of his lover. Surely no event, not even the destruction of London itself, could cause him to obfuscate justice. So my only other option really was 'who'. ' _Who_ ' had made the Professor do this? Tysan? But how? 'How'… 'How'… I tapped my pen against this question, gathering my thoughts. How was this photograph of me involved? If someone had forced the Professor to hide my actions by using my mugshots, how could they do that? How could someone blackmail a man with no secrets to hide?

And then, after eliminating many assumptions about many different people, some I knew, some I had theorised, only a single answer remained. One I didn't particularly like. This someone had a lot of power. Enough power to be a government official. Or higher. Enough power to force any man to do anything. Such as paying the legal world to keep a tragedy secret.

And now, with this theory in place, I could return to the 'Who'. I had thought perhaps Tysan might have been the main puppeteer pulling the strings, but I had been right to question his authority over the Professor. He had none, and so he may be equal to the Professor in this situation. He was the one at the end of the strings. The puppet.

And the true puppeteer? Perhaps the author of the insects. But I didn't know them. And, I was beginning to realise, there was someone else who fit a good portion of my theorised conditions. Someone who had been on my mind quite a lot this evening. Bill Hawks himself.

A rather large problem with this, however, was he had been sent to prison in place of me. I was a free man partially because of my good behaviour. But the real reason I'd been released was due to the information I'd discovered about Hawks when I'd been a much younger reporter. The inspectors at Scotland Yard were eventually exposed to these truths and had finally deemed the man a threat to the nation. After a very lengthy trial, he was sentenced to life in prison, and it was all because of me. The man was not happy with me, of that I was certain.

But how could he retaliate from behind prison bars? If there was some way, then my next assumption had to be, despite already being incarcerated and his exploits revealed, Hawks desired to keep his past as secret as possible. And though I had been the instigator of London's destruction, my reasons for devising such a plan were completely steeped in Hawks' misdeeds. If any other investigative reporter had decided, like myself, to uncover the truth, they would find my story and his intertwined.

If all this was true, Hawks would certainly want my mugshots obscured, and so blackmailing the Professor now made sense. When I'd used him in my own revenge, I'd made sure to direct him on a path to the truth of what Hawks had done, causing him to dig up some of the man's mistakes as well.

So, how did the Tysans fit into this? Could Hawks have a reason for blackmailing them as well? Perhaps… Mrs Tysan was a bit more of a mystery, but considering my theory, Tysan had a very good reason to be concerned. I had seen what his journal contained. A record of the Mobile Fortress. Hawks would want that buried immediately and he'd do to those who found out what he'd done to those who had uncovered the time machine experiment all those years ago. Silence them.

I now thought of the other entries in the journal. The powers. Tysan had been so very nervous about them as well. Could it be possible Hawks not only wanted to obscure his past, but those powers also? The only way they fit into this theory was if Hawks really had been the scientist fellow who had accompanied Tysan on the dig, though that man had supposedly disappeared according to one entry…

In addition, despite all my efforts to uncover every facet of it, I realised I still knew so little of what Hawks had been doing the night he'd destroyed his own laboratory and killed my parents. Who was the organisation he was selling the machine too? And for what purpose? I recalled a comment made by Professor Layton's lover a long time ago. _"What we did broke the very laws of nature…"_ So, had they really been testing the limits of our ability to travel through time? Or…performing experiments having to do with the powers…?

If Hawks was after the powers then he'd have even more of an incentive to conceal Tysan's journal. This would explain why it had been hidden away as well as Tysan's anxiety over learning I'd seen what was inside. So if the journal was so debilitating to these plans, why not destroy it? He must have had a reason… In any case the journal existed and Tysan didn't want anyone to see it.

So then…was Tysan possibly doing Hawks' bidding? Was this man—someone I'd trusted with Justine, someone I'd trusted myself—the killer? Going about murdering all who knew too much? And had I been conned into seeing the journal, discovering Tysan's secrets and now I was about to be one of his victims? Or might Hawks have his own plans for me? Saving me for something…more…? And the puzzles… Could the author of the messages they revealed know of all this and be attempting to keep me safe by placing my photos on those graves to alert me?

Or, another possibility, was this all just confusing conjecture with no real answer and I was no closer to catching the real killer…?

Despite this last thought, I set to work preparing these notes for my wall and in a few minutes' time I had another six sheets scrawled with my theories.

'What

Prison identification photo

Where

Graveyard – Also placed on victims of London's destruction

Who

Bill Hawks(?)

Author of insect puzzles(?)

When

The time doesn't matter. Like the insect puzzles, they're invisible

How

Bill Hawks may be blackmailing Tysans/Professor Layton/possibly others

Why

To continue hiding his past

The powers may be involved

The author may be attempting to foil his plans

Once finished, I tacked the sheets in a circle around my other set. I had thin red tape on standby to add to any I could connect, but I wanted to keep my assumptions separate from the facts I had gathered at the crime scenes. So instead of red tape, I decided on a light blue, something that didn't catch the eye, but at least helped me make a few connections.

Afterwards, I stepped back and surveyed my work. I was far from satisfied. As I looked at the entire group of notes, gathered it all as a whole, it was quite convoluted despite working so hard to keep it as organised as possible… How disappointing… I could barely follow my own notes!

I couldn't let this bother me, however. These were for reference when I needed them, not something to focus on all the time. What was important to remember right now were my working theories and things I'd observed during this mystery: Bill Hawks, a man whose reputation I'd destroyed, may be attempting to obscure his past, find the powers and take his revenge on me for landing him in prison all at once. He may be blackmailing the Professor to hide my identity because I used the Professor to uncover even more of his secrets. He may also be using Tysan because the man has a record of the Mobile Fortress and the powers in his journal. Someone else, maybe the author of the puzzles, has bribed a portion of the legal world into revealing my identity, but only to me and possibly to others who could see the objects of invisibility—the puzzles and my photo so far. Tysan may be the killer and the author may be sending me these puzzles to thwart his, and ultimately Bill Hawks', plans.

From this, I now needed to find a way to stop the murderer, whoever they were. This meant understanding the message and poem from the insect puzzle.

And just as I thought this, I couldn't help the great yawn I gave as I dropped heavily into my office chair. I had neglected sleep too many times this week, but if I had any chance of catching this murderer before he attacked again, I'd need to pick apart the message and poem from the insect puzzle. Perhaps just one more night of mystery-solving wouldn't hurt…?

I shook my head. No, there was no way. I'd promised I'd sleep and, again, I needed to be alert for the interview tomorrow. If someone really was blackmailing Tysan and he was desperate enough, he could attempt to kill me and very well succeed if my reaction time was equal to that of a dead cat due to sleep deprivation… There had to be some way to satisfy my human needs while stopping this murderer. And as I thought on it, I realised there just might be. I had one thing I could take out of the equation. Work. Though it was a bit of a short notice, maybe that holiday Mary had jokingly brought up earlier today wasn't such a bad idea. I'd never taken time off, after all. Now was my chance.

I decided then, before the day drew any closer to its end, to ring Mary's office phone. I knew she was still at the agency. She was quite the hard worker when it came to our paper and though I felt she herself should have a break, I admired this trait. It would certainly work in my favour tonight.

"Helloooo!" came the greeting after nearly five rings. "This is Mary!"

I chuckled. Chipper as always. "Good evening, Mary. It's—"

"Clive! Hello! What's up? Do you need something?"

"Nothing much. And, yes, in a way I do need something. I was phoning to request this very something, but I'm not sure how you'll take it…" There was a silence on the other line as if it had disconnected. I waited a second for a response but when none were forthcoming I said, "Mary? Are you still there?"

"Oh! Sorry, Clive! What is it you wanted to…request?"

I lifted an eyebrow. She seemed tense all of a sudden… "Is everything alright?"

"Yes! It's just…" She cut herself short then began laughing. "I suppose I shouldn't jump to conclusions like this! So, to be sure, what…sort of request is this?"

"Well, definitely one that's been a long time coming, I feel."

"Long time coming?"

"Yes. And I apologise for not bringing it up sooner." I chuckled. "You've probably been wondering why I haven't asked in all the time I've worked there!"

"Asked sooner? H-Haven't asked before…?"

"…Yes," I was a bit uncertain. "Mary, are you sure everything's alright?"

"It's just… Well, it's not like I have a problem with it…but…" She forced a laugh as if trying to sound unassuming. "Well…maybe… You know what? Let's throw caution to the wind! Go ahead!"

"Are you…certain?" I had a particularly strong feeling we weren't on the same page here…

"Y-yes! I think so…! To be honest, I've…well…" she gave another sort of nervous laugh I'd never heard out of her before and then there was a noise of fabric over the receiver as if she was holding it against her chest as she attempted, partially unsuccessful, to mask her next words. "Oh…god, I shouldn't…talking about…over the company phone, but…maybe…been waiting so long!" Now I could hear her properly again. "Go ahead, Clive. Please!"

I cocked my head. "You've been waiting for me to ask for a paid holiday?" Again, I heard silence. Thinking she was upset about my timing, I repeated, "I do apologise for the short notice. I really didn't mean for it to be so sudden… It's just, this string of murders… Well, let's just say they…I need to look into them a bit more." I had wanted to say they involved me, but held off. It would only frighten her if I mentioned this and I imagine she wouldn't give even a moment's thought to allowing me my holiday then…

A few more seconds of silence passed before Mary responded, sounding a bit oblivious. "Oh…" Then her tone quickly returned to its normal upbeat quality. "Yes, I suppose a holiday does fit all those conditions as well! Mary, you ding-dong!"

I laughed, a bit confused. "What did you think I was talking abo—"

"Oh, nothing, Clive! Hey, don't worry about the short notice! I know how much you want to be a detective so whatever it is you feel you need to do, go do it!"

"Ah, brilliant, Mary, thank you! I'm sure you'll really enjoy what I find. It's quite the mystery, this."

"…Maybe I would have…"

Was she mumbling to herself? "Mary?"

"Whoops! There I go again! Don't mind me, Clive. I was only distracted!"

I wished I could see her face to know if she was lying… Something seemed to be on her mind tonight but I didn't wish to pry into it too much for now.

"Well then, I'll be off. Have a good night and stay safe, Mary."

"You…safe…"

"Sorry?"

"You stay safe out there, too! And, Clive?"

"Yes, Mary?"

"Don't you dare let the culprit kill you! I can't afford to find another reporter like you!"

Despite these words conjuring more thoughts of Tysan attempting to take my life, I was unable to stop grinning.

"Yes, ma'am, I understand…"

That night, unlike all others since these murders had begun, I'd gone to bed early. As much as I'd wanted to attempt a more in-depth analysis of the insect puzzle's message, I decided to succumb to the weariness that had been dragging at my feet like shackles since Sunday. I'd had a satisfying supper, so now that I'd fulfilled eating a more normal amount, it was time to catch up on some rest.

And just like supper, what a satisfying rest it was. After seven hours I awoke and looked about to see I really had slept in my bed. Not at my desk. Actually in bed. And I'd been completely enveloped in darkness. No nightmares. No dreams about work (or articles crushing me to death). No restless tossing and turning. Just serene, peaceful darkness. To celebrate such an occasion, I stretched until my form trembled, and then returned to sleep.

It was another hour before I woke again, still fairly early. Though I was now on holiday for the next week, I suppose my internal clock was still working overtime, the stress of being on time to interviews, the office, these recent murder scenes and everywhere else my job took me still weighing on my mind. But I assumed my sleep was mostly disturbed by my desire to pore over the insect puzzle. This wouldn't be what most people thought of as a holiday. I wouldn't be travelling to a resort or beach, or really anywhere outside of London. My holiday would be spent researching.

And perhaps there was another reason I'd awoken so early from my lie in. I looked to my mobile phone as I checked the time and saw Mary had texted me. She'd been late. The message had been sent at six and not five.

'I wanted to ring you, but then thought I'd better let you catch up on your beauty sleep ;)' I read with a smile. 'Hope your holiday starts off well! REMEMBER TO STAY SAFE!'

Another half hour of resting and I finally got up. And instead of rushing out the door as usual, I took my time. I wasn't very hungry after my feast of a supper last night so I popped out to the kitchen only for some Earl Grey. I brewed two cups, one for myself and one for Justine, and left the second on her desk where she had fallen asleep yet again. I couldn't help beaming in pride. She'd been working hard on yet another quantum physics formula…at least, that's what I imagine all those Greek characters and mathematical symbols represented… Maybe she'd be so tired from passing out on her work she'd actually try some Earl Grey for once, I silently hoped.

For about an hour after I'd returned to the kitchen table I read from a mystery novel (even when completely enveloped in one, one could never get enough mystery!) I then headed for the bathroom where I enjoyed a nice long, hot shower much to Justine's dismay as she'd slept through her alarm for school.

"Dad, hurry up in there!" she'd yelled while smacking on the door. "What are you doing? Getting ready to meet the queen?!"

"Just have my shirt left to button up and I'll be out," I'd responded then with a smirk I'd added, "My, it's rather difficult to see the buttons without my glasses… Guess I have no choice by to go slower…"

"Dad, seriously!"

"Oh no… I'm so old I've completely forgotten how to knot my tie! I'll just fiddle around with it until I figure it out again…"

"Dad…"

"No, that's not right…"

"Dad!"

"That's not right, either…"

And it was only a matter of time before she burst in and shoved me out, grumbling in response to my snickering.

By the time I'd finished my shower, I'd worked up quite an appetite and like supper I decided to indulge in a rather large breakfast. A bowl of hot oatmeal and another of cereal, a plate of scrambled egg topped with ham and cheese, a side of hash browns and of course, another cup of Earl Grey. I took this chance to gorge myself on seconds until my buttons were fit to pop. What a meal! I thought with a satisfied sigh, leaning back in my chair as I rested my intertwined fingers on my bursting stomach, savouring every moment. I really didn't like to treat myself often, but besides needing the energy, I believe I deserved it after all the times I'd sporadically skipped a meal or cut one short this week.

It was only 8.00am by the time I'd finished breakfast and Justine had left for school (after I told her multiple times to stay safe and watched after her as she walked the crowded streets). And though my interview wasn't until six this evening, the day certainly flew. After clearing my dishes, I entered my study and finally set to work on the insect puzzle. I'd rested my body and filled my belly. Now it was time to indulge my mind.

Firstly, I simply looked over the puzzles—the one from my home computer I'd written out and the three on the back of the hourglass scraps from yesterday's murder. I was both refamiliarising myself with the mystery and satisfying a curiosity. Did all these puzzles contain the same message? It only took one look at the recurring patterns of numbers to see they did, indeed, and I could now be certain someone really had deliberately planned out my involvement in this case—further supporting my theory the author was helping me hinder the murderer's schemes. With how many times they'd reiterated the same message, I knew they really wanted me to understand what they had to say and perhaps I'd have to be on the lookout for another scrap that might have a new message. But for now… I looked back at the words before me. I already had a message to consider.

I glanced to my wall of notes. Now that I knew the insect puzzles were part of this murder-mystery, I should add everything I deciphered to my wall. I grabbed a new sheet. Unlike the others, it wouldn't follow my journalist formula. Instead, I titled it simply 'Deciphering the Insects'. With pen at the ready, I eyed the message I'd written out above the Fibonacci numbers.

'Congratulations on solving the puzzle. Unfortunately I can't explain just yet how you are involved or why these answers need to be solved as puzzles. Bear with me. All I can say for now is you are important to me. That's the only way you can fully read this. Please continue on this mission for me. All will be revealed in due time.'

Reading these words again…they made me feel as though I had a bond with the author. I knew already we were connected based on my ability to see the insect puzzles and understand their meaning. But this message felt warm and inviting, as though it were from a friend. I wasn't sure I could be certain of this, especially if their reason for placing my photos on those graves was to berate me for my past actions. But I considered it none the less. This feeling may be something the author had intended, after all. Who the author was, though, and what their plan entailed, I had no idea. Perhaps more answers were hidden in the poem?

I looked beneath the message. I'd only had time to analyse two lines, the first two of the second stanza reading,

'At the building of knowledge a book will lie.

Talking of seven powers that govern the Earth'

I'd thought this building of knowledge to mean a university, bookstore, or a library. And this book was present at this building. Perhaps after I finished my interview and learnt as much as I could on those powers (and fought off any attack Tysan may launch on me), I'd have a search about the university's library. There were thousands upon thousands of books there, but considering the author had chosen me, I hoped I had a good chance of finding it.

After writing down these theories, I backtracked to the first stanza.

'The one closest can't see what you see

But the one furthest away can'

With my connection to the author, I'd assume for now the 'you' meant me. So… Someone close to me can't see…what? The insect puzzles? That's the only thing I could think of that I saw but no one else, at least, not many people, did. And this person closest to me… What did closest mean in this context? Figuratively? Of course I knew, then. It was Justine, my daughter whom I loved like my own biological child. But was this who the author meant? Or was it meant to be taken physically, as in someone I met every day or someone who oversaw me? In that case, who was physically close to me? Mary? The Inspector? I already knew Mary, the Inspector and Justine—Justine at least partially—couldn't see the puzzles so this didn't help me any…

And who might be the one furthest away? Someone I emotionally held at a distance? Or someone physically far away? Whoever it was, according to the poem they could see what I did. Meaning, possibly, they could see the insect puzzles. Was this meant to be a warning, then? That someone who might be my enemy could also be solving these puzzles? I glanced again to my wall of notes. Bill Hawks. His name stuck out, striking a fire in my guts. Was he really my enemy yet again…? Perhaps this was a good thing, I thought in an attempt to douse my anger. Maybe this was my chance to defeat him with true justice in mind…

I added my assumptions to my notes before continuing on to the next lines.

'The truth to them is not a mystery

But the truth to them is a sham'

I didn't know who the 'them' was referring to. And was the first line's 'them' the same as the one appearing in the second? They know the truth but consider it a sham? Or was it two separate people? One of them knew the truth while the other was unawares? Perhaps this had to do with the person who had blackmailed the Professor into hiding my identity and the person who had revealed it in the graveyard? I continued on to the second stanza.

'At the building of knowledge a book will lie

Talking of seven powers that govern the Earth

About corruption and evil and those who will die

About purity and goodness and those of rebirth'

I'd already studied the first two lines, but the last two I wasn't sure I had much of an answer for. They sounded almost religious. Could these powers have been regarded as such at one point?

'The answers are concealed in darkness

The solutions do take flight

The shadows are rather heartless'

Like the rest of the poem, I was unsure whether or not the 'darkness' and 'shadows' referred to a physical lack of light or a figurative one. And that last line…

'So hunt only by the light'

Was this figurative? Of course I physically needed light in order to search so one would assume it meant something else…

'That is when all will be revealed'

This final line was written with a sure finality. I wouldn't be solving anything until I could find these answers. And unfortunately, I couldn't find these answers until I first understood this poem. I had quite the ways to go, then… Despite having noted as much as I could, I had more questions than answers, not for the first time since this mystery's beginning. At least I was now organised and aware of what I should be on the lookout for while researching. That was a step in the right direction and it was all I could do for now. Perhaps this book I needed to find would hold more clues. I hoped…

By the time I had finished tacking these new notes up on my wall and connecting them to the murder case with more light-blue tape, it was time for elevenses. And, unlike these past few days with murder scenes to report and the office to attend to, I finally had time to indulge in such a gift. Though I was still rather full from breakfast, I made myself a cup of Earl Grey and had one biscuit then I returned to working. This time on something not involving the murders or the insects at all. This was a project of my own making. Something I'd been labouring over for…well, far too long. It was a novel. A murder-mystery, to be precise. Like elevenses (and sometimes basic human needs) I hadn't had time for it. Now I could finally sit down and revisit my plot and characters. It felt like forever since I'd taken them on an adventure.

During this time, the day went by even faster. I wrote the rest of chapter eleven, ate lunch, edited chapter eleven, reread chapter eleven, edited some more, reread some more, edited again, and, finally, after nearly snapping a pencil in half due to frustration with the wording of a single sentence I couldn't seem to get, finished chapter eleven. I took a quick Earl Grey break, downing at least five more cups, then began plotting out chapter twelve before I heard the sound of the front door open.

"Dad!" It was Justine. "I'm home! You here?"

I looked to my desk clock. Already 5pm. It was time to get ready to head out. I grabbed my blazer. My waistcoat and tie were already loosely draped on my person and I began to fasten them as I walked for the kitchen.

"Hey, Just," I greeted as I knotted my tie. "You must have been out for a bit after school?"

"Yep. Went to the bakery with…well, Fayne and Evelyne." She looked away almost guiltily but then suddenly trained her eyes into mine once more as she continued, a spark of defiance ignited within. "But there were other people there, too."

I knew I could believe she had invited other people as there didn't appear to be any microexpression suggesting she was lying—a good thing so I knew she and Fayne hadn't got up to any sort of…mischief. And I didn't smell any cigarette smoke, alcohol or any other substance I didn't agree with lingering on her. Still, I decided to enquire a bit more about Fayne's involvement. Considering she hadn't listened to me about keeping away from him, maybe annoying her would teach her a lesson.

"You and Fayne didn't…sneak off from the group, did you?"

She prefaced her answer with a glare and crossed arms.

"Dad, seriously…"

"Yes, seriously, Justine... Even if it's something as simple as going out with friends, anyone can make mistakes they'll regret." And I would not want you to endure that…

Justine sighed. "Fayne and I only talked about video games. And, of course, everyone knows that's the best way to get someone to sleep with you…"

"It is?!" I cried.

"No!" she cried back. "It's definitely not!"

"My…" I rested a hand over my heart. "Don't scare me like that…"

"Anyway… That's all we did. And halfway through a discussion about how the vessels in Solid Warrior were created by the king and how _the_ Solid Warrior is a failed vessel itself, Evelyne started reading a giant book about thousands of ways to die. Hardly a situation that would lead to shagging anyone, I think…"

"Well, it's good to know you had clean fun," I said, waggling a forefinger pointedly. "Not only do you not need sex to have fun, but you never have to resort to illegal substances either."

"Yeah, I _know_ , Dad… When will you stop lecturing me…?"

"If you don't want me to lecture you, perhaps you should listen to me. I told you not to visit Fayne without my approval."

She looked away. "Don't you see how mental that sounds, Dad?"

"It's not," I said bluntly. I wished I could explain the situation… "Just trust me…"

She quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, where are you off to right now?" Then added a bit too cheekily for my liking, "I thought we weren't supposed to be out at night…?"

She was trying to mock me, but I didn't take the bait. "I'm off to an interview. I'll be out until about seven so keep the house locked until I'm back."

"An interview _this_ late, huh? Where to?"

I knew I couldn't give her the truth. As much as I hated lying, if I so much as mentioned Gressenheller University she'd instantly tag along. She was currently filling out applications and Gressenheller was top of her list. So in an effort to remain truthful yet vague, I said, "Not too far from here. I'll fetch you that chocolate afterwards, shall I?"

"Hey, wait," she folded her arms with head tilted. "Aren't you on holiday?"

I blinked. I had been in my study when I'd called Mary to request time off. How did she know?

"I don't remember mentioning that…"

"I…overheard you talking about needing to…investigate…" I watched with unease as she put a hand to her head. More headaches? "So what's up with you working while on holiday?"

"It's part of looking into these murders," I said, my thoughts shifting to my plans with Tysan and how I'd protect myself if he attempted to harm me while there. This pondering was a mistake, however, as it managed to loosen my tongue. "A professor this time…"

"A professor, huh?" Justine asked, drawing me back to the present only so I could realise my mistake. "So you must be going to a university… And judging by what you said before, about somewhere not too far away, it must be a university close to home…"

"Hey, who's the one investigating, here?" I joked, though I could feel a few beads of sweat slipping towards my brow… "I should really set off…"

"Which university? Wouldn't happen to be Gressenheller, would it?"

She was positively beaming now, so excited it drew the truth straight out of me…

"…It is," I admitted in defeat then added firmly, "but you can't come with."

"Why not?" The shimmer in her eyes turned to a defiant blaze as she lifted a brow, challenging me for a good reason. I wasn't sure I had one…

"Because…I'm going to an interview, Justine, not touring the place! Besides, even if I could bring you, it would be rather boring…"

"Oh, please, Dad? It's one of the most prestigious universities in all of London and I haven't had time to go! And I've heard so much about their physics department. You know what? I even have an application signed to go there this autumn. I can take it along and drop it off finally. Maybe while you're doing your interview I can do that? And then sit in on a physics class or something?"

I sighed audibly, rubbing between my furrowed brows with thumb and pointer. If I said yes, I'd be putting her in danger but if I continued to protest, I knew she'd find a way to come with anyway… The plan she'd thought up, running her own tour while I conducted my interview, was probably the best situation I could hope for now that I'd let my plans slip and she was interested in going.

"Fine," I acquiesced rather heavily, weighing the gravity of the situation. Now we were both potentially in danger… "Just remember to be quiet while in the halls. There will be classes in session while we're there. And don't use your money for anything in the vending machines. We still have supper to eat and I don't want you filling up on rubbish. And—"

"Yeah, I get it, Dad!" she said with hands on her hips. "I'm not seven anymore…"

I watched her, my anxiety melting for the moment. Despite the current situation I couldn't help easing the mood with a smirk. "Are you sure? You're still placing your hands on your hips when you get mad, and you used to do that all the time when you were younger."

She quickly folded her arms now, determined to prove me wrong.

"That doesn't work either. You used to cross your arms when you were really defiant."

"Can we just go?"

I laughed. "Yes, I suppose we should be on our way. Are you ready as is?"

"Oh, one sec." With this, she dashed into her room and returned with both her application and a notepad like the ones that currently lined my pockets. "I have to take notes on what they offer for physics classes. And if they do any experiments I want to write down some formulas. Oh, man! I can't wait!"

I smiled in fatherly pride, opening the door. "Alright then, after you."

With Justine in tow, I made my way to Gressenheller University, careful to keep an eye on our surroundings as night began to close in on us. We soon arrived at our destination unfollowed and unharmed, and now that I knew we were out of danger, at least any that might have been outside the building, I could take in the grandeur of this rather magnificent university.

Such a contrast it was to step from the dark, shadowy London streets into a place that was positively radiating light. Tens of hundreds of lights, in fact. All wreathed together in what I imagined were modern chandeliers. They lined the tall, tall ceiling at set intervals from where we had stepped in to the very far back of the front entrance. Marble pillars of white only emphasised this lighting. For each chandelier there were two pillars on the left and right for as far as I could see, towering over us, making the place feel even more immense and elegant. They met at a convex ceiling embellished with wooden arches that, contrasting to the more modern redesigns, instilled a feeling of ancient mystery. And held aloft by these pillars of white and arches of gold were sweeping staircases that weaved throughout the bottom floor, leading up to mezzanines where I imagined students would chat and study and lounge. I quickly noted they were entirely empty at this time.

While studying the place, I noticed Justine had attached herself to one of the walls. They were filled with all sorts of accomplishments made by various scholars. Ancient artefacts encased in glass, physics periodicals framed in bronze (which Justine was positively poring over, her pen practically setting flame to her notepad), an array of multi-coloured fine arts draped in silver ribbon. Even the smell of the place—old parchment, ink, new books—seemed infused with something…larger, like uncovering an ancient secret, whether it be outside in the vast world somewhere or kept right within the confines of a manuscript.

In a way the university reminded me of my adoptive mother's mansion before Cogg had transformed it into a factory. It almost felt like home. At the same time, it still stood impressive and inspiring like the pinnacle of wisdom it was. Surely if anything was considered a building of knowledge, this was it.

Once I was able to tear Justine away from a plaque featuring a number of physicists who had won Nobel Prizes, we checked in at the front desk and I was given the chance to meet with the dean who was in the process of leaving for the night.

"Good evening," she stopped and greeted us, very stoic and proper as she shook my hand. "Mrs Stone. How may I be of service to you two?"

"Good evening, Mrs Stone," I returned. "I'm here to interview a Professor Tysan."

"Oh yes, you're the reporter we've been expecting. Clive Dove. You're writing about the murders?"

I couldn't help the feeling of pride swelling in my chest. I hadn't wanted to use the murders to earn more subscribers, but if my articles inadvertently brought attention to our paper, so be it. Surely Mary would be happy about this. "Yes, that's correct."

"I heard something about a Jack the Ripper being involved. Was that you as well?"

And my smile disappeared. "No, of course not…" A dry smirk began to tug at a corner of my lips to counter Richard's cackle I could have sworn I heard echoing about the vast hallways. "In fact, I believe I saw a similar article that had been tossed in the rubbish bin…" Getting back to real journalism… "Now, before I begin my interview, I was wondering if perhaps Professor Layton is in?" I wasn't asking this to meet the man. I knew there was a slim chance now as the schoolyear was nearly over and if he wasn't at home resting after a long day of teaching, he may have been on another wild adventure. But besides that, I had been pondering all day whether or not my theory of his involvement in this mess was true. Perhaps I could glean some information on such a situation right now.

"No, he's not," Mrs Stone answered. Only the slightest arch of an eyebrow disturbed her placid expression. "I haven't seen him for a while. I had assumed he was on a dig or solving another mystery for Scotland Yard, but this has been an unusually long time…" She added, more to herself, "And Father's been asking…"

"Interesting…" I said, a notebook already in hand as I recorded this information. Another note to add to the heap affixed to my wall… So this wouldn't seem suspicious, I finished quickly then smiled and added, "If I know him well enough, he can be gone for quite a while."

A split second furrow of the brow.

"One of these days he's going to be in danger and we'll not know it until it's much too late…"

I cleared my throat. She didn't know how right that assumption may be… I sincerely hoped it wasn't.

"Anyway," I began, directing this exchange away from such a topic. "Back to business I suppose. My purpose for meeting Professor Tysan is to learn more about some of his newest archaeological discoveries. I'm guessing he might even have a place on that wall filled with plaques." I looked towards the one Justine had reattached herself to.

At this, the Dean's light green eyes shimmered, like a placid sea growing restless.

"He does, in fact. An excavation involving both himself and Professor Layton is up on our wall of recognition for hard work."

"Professor Layton has gone on digs with Professor Tysan as well?" Interesting, considering I don't remember reading about that in his journal…

"Yes. It was very important according to Professor Layton, but he was a bit vague in his explanation as he was in a rush. From what I gathered, they had been researching an ancient resting ground, undisturbed for thousands of years. They'd been unsuccessful discovering anything, but figured they'd just been in the wrong spot and would regroup in a future attempt." Her brow furrowed again, a bit more noticeable than last time. "Now that I think on it, that was the last time I had seen Professor Layton."

I jotted down this information. A single dig? One that was very important? The Professor had been very vague when explaining it as he had been in a rush…and now he was potentially missing… It seemed to point to the excavation in which Tysan found those two powers… But the only person who joined him that he'd mentioned in his journal had been a scientist of some sort. Someone I now assumed to have been Bill Hawks.

"Must have been a dig about some powers…?" I said as if to myself, though I watched the Dean's features to see if perhaps she knew anything else. Unfortunately, her expression didn't shift any and so I had even more hypotheses to ponder. Had the Professor been lying? Or had Tysan been lying?

"Powers?" came a sudden query. I looked to see Justine was back at my side, her own brow arched in challenge to my statement. "What do you mean 'powers'? Is that what your mystery has been about this whole time? Something made up?"

I couldn't help a short, mocking chuckle.

"Talk about 'made up'. You're the one playing the video games all the time."

"Yeah, but, Dad, I know those aren't real…"

"Could have fooled me. Sometimes you're so engrossed you forget to eat! Perhaps I should be ripping up your games like you've threatened to rip up my notes…?"

"Look. It's in human nature to have an answer to everything and I'm guessing these _'powers'_ were thought up by cavemen and cavewomen… They were probably just about nature, like Fire, Water, Air, and Earth."

At the mention of these elements, I found myself wondering the same. I had never really thought of what those circles might represent. Could that really be all they were? Just powers of nature? But Tysan had physically seen something… Unless he'd been lying about that, too…? I noticed Justine bring a hand to her head for a brief moment and her smirk vanished, replaced by a grimace as she winced.

"More headaches?" I asked her, concern touching my voice.

She straightened, trying to appear as if nothing was wrong. "Must be from trying to get my head round something so silly." Despite her saying this, she pressured her hand to her forehead even harder.

"Or perhaps it's that computer you're always staring at?"

"Oh, you must be very interested in science," I looked to the Dean who had spoken up, the waves in her light sea-green eyes growing more restless. I smiled as Justine instantly recovered from her ailment and happily introduced herself.

"You bet! I have practically every book on string theory. And don't even get me started on the multidimensional theory!" I could practically feel the excitement burning in her eyes. I took this opportunity to send her on her way. Away from the danger I was headed to.

"Justine was actually wondering if she could sit in on a physics class while I conduct my interview. Would that be alright?"

"Oh, absolutely!" the Dean exclaimed, then covered her mouth and corrected herself with a softer, more composed tone. "Certainly. I'll show you to one of the classes taking place right now. Mr Dove," she again turned to me, "it was nice talking with you. Professor Tysan's office is on the third floor, room three-zero-eight. Just take the lift up and you'll see it on the right side."

"Thanks for your help."

"I'll show your daughter to our physics department. It's the building across the way, just outside these doors. You can come meet us when you're done."

I nodded and we headed our separate ways. Just as I was about to set off down the hall, however, I turned to look back at Justine who was already chatting the Dean's leg off about another physics theory. I hoped she'd be safe…

I took Ms Stone's direction, riding the lift for the third floor where I stepped off and turned to face room three-zero-eight. I could practically feel the fear emanating from behind the closed door. I knew Tysan was nervous about meeting with me, especially after I had tipped him off that I was aware of the secrets written in the pages of his journal. I, too, was a bit nervous now as I thought on it. There were no students around. All the other professors on this floor had gone home for the night. It was just Tysan and I. If he wanted to attempt killing me, now would be the perfect opportunity.

I knocked at his door.

"Mr Tysan. It's Clive Dove. Here for the interview."

"Come in," I heard the soft, barely audible reply. I obeyed.

As I opened the door, I took a cursory glance about the office. Despite the tension hanging in the air, the place was rather cosy-looking. A couch with a blanket and cushions was stationed to my left. To my right, a cabinet full of photographs, some set on top, some affixed with magnets. All of them featured Mrs Tysan and Fayne. I may not care much for Fayne, but I had to admit he looked to be a decent lad when he wasn't fawning over my daughter… The space not taken up by these two units hosted Tysan's archaeological finds, many of which I could have sworn I'd seen hanging in his house.

I now trained my attention on Tysan alone. No wonder I'd felt nearly palpable fear oozing from the office. The man was practically shaking and I certainly didn't need microexpressions to determine that. I attempted to placate him with a smile. For now I needed information only on his occupation for my paper. We'd get to the more secretive—and dangerous—bit later…

"Good evening," I greeted, shaking his hand. His grip was weak and sweaty. "It's good to see you again."

"A-and you as well…"

"Thank you for allowing me a bit of your time. This shouldn't take long at all." I smiled again. "Shall we begin?"

And so, for an hour I discussed with the man about his job as an archaeologist. How he'd become interested in this subject, how much he'd uncovered, his most recent find and where he planned on heading next. And all the answers I received, I had found, were contrived. It was difficult noticing this amongst the already overwhelming trepidation he exhibited, but I could see he had a tell—a certain hint from the unconscious—when he lied. His eyes shifted to something he could use to weave together a tall tale. His interest in archaeology, of course, wasn't due to the scroll he'd found as a child by somehow time travelling. It was through a family member, fabricated by a photo sat on his desk. How much he had discovered was constructed out of a number displayed on his clock. It had read six-fifteen and he'd discovered about six to fifteen different artefacts. His most recent find was something displayed on the wall. Covered in dust, I might add. And where he felt he should head next he'd taken from a rather generic calendar hanging near his desk. The pages showed exotic jungles which he planned on unearthing, apparently. Enough of this. If he was going to tell only lies, then I wanted them to be about my goal: the journal. Maybe while his mouth spilled fibs, his eyes would show the truth. And I would come closer to understanding what I must do to stop the murderer.

"That about wraps up my interview, Mr Tysan," I said. He visibly relaxed. "But I do have one last question before I leave." And his fear returned full force. I couldn't blame him now. My own heartbeat had quickened, in fact. I was about to venture down a path of questions that would only increase his fear. I watched his hands. One was placed on his desk, shaking. The other, I noted, was somewhere underneath. Could he be reaching for a weapon…? "Just out of curiosity," I continued, willing myself on, "what were some of those artefacts you uncovered that you talked about in your journal?" I eyed him closely. "You didn't seem to mention any of them."

"I-I…" he stuttered. Once again, his eyes were shifting all about the room. I attempted to watch them but a flash of movement from the hand that had been under the desk caught my attention. It was only after I established he was simply wiping his brow that I looked back at his eyes. I saw them dart to his desk from somewhere off to the side, but I hadn't caught where… I'd have to pay more attention to them. "That is… I-I…simply forgot them… They weren't very noteworthy to be honest…"

"Hmm…" I mused. "If I remember correctly, there was one dig that was unscheduled. And you were asked to uncover an artefact with someone you described as a scientist." He faltered. After glancing to his hand, which had retreated back under his desk, and then to his eyes to see them still trained on the surface, I continued. "Interesting for a scientist to join you on a dig. What sort of scientist was this?"

"A… A physicist, if I remember…"

A physicist, eh…? I was becoming more and more certain Hawks was involved in this case…

"And his name?" I smiled up at Tysan. "I only ask because Justine's so interested in science and all. Perhaps she's read of this scientist?"

"A…I…"

He was growing more flustered with each question. I glanced once more to his hand to be sure he wasn't hiding a weapon. When I didn't see one, I looked to his eyes to gauge if he was about to attack. And that's when I noticed… Had his eyes just darted away from a drawer in his desk?

"That is…" Tysan attempted to continue while I poised pen over notepad, eager for him to divulge all his secrets to me.

Just as the man was about to answer, however, there came a knock at the door. While my eyes narrowed in irritation, I about heard the 'thank heavens' that shone in his. "Yes, come in!"

And in that moment as the one who had knocked opened the door, in a single heartbeat of a second, my confidence shattered. It was Justine. Justine had just stepped in… What was she doing here?! This man might be desperate enough to kill now that I was questioning the journal! I shot my sights to his hand under the desk to see it shaking off to the side. Was there something clenched in it now?! But I couldn't leave until I had my answers. I wouldn't!

"Justine," I said, attempting to relax in the face of danger. Fear wouldn't keep us alive. Control and authority would… "Weren't you taking a tour?"

"Yeah, but classes just finished, unfortunately." She grinned, completely unaware of the danger we were in. "They were doing experiments, Dad! Physics experiments! So cool! I'll have to replicate some of the ones I wrote down!"

I forced a chuckle. "Is that so? Well, I'll just finish up the rest of my interview and we can head home." I turned back to Tysan. I had to make this quick if I wanted information or I'd get a knife in the throat instead… "Getting back to our interview, Mr Tysan, I do believe I saw something about…powers in the journal. Were those powers of nature or something along those lines?"

"Yes!" Tysan practically shouted. Again, his eyes shifted and this time I could confirm they were drawn to a drawer at his desk. While shifting my own eyes to his hand, watching it closely to make certain he wouldn't attack, I made a note of this. He wasn't trying anything yet… As I thought this, I saw another flash of movement catch my eye. From the side. I quickly looked to Justine who had placed a hand on her head once more. Again with those headaches? Maybe after this was over I should take her to the doctors for a quick check-up… "Those were simply powers of nature," I turned back to Tysan as he continued. "That's exactly correct…"

"Right. And, one more thing… In your journal you mentioned you felt as if you travelled through time… Was this a figure of speech?" Right as I mentioned this last bit, I again noticed Justine move rapidly and I looked to see her doubling up. The interview and Tysan himself slipped from my mind for a moment. "Justine, are you alright?"

For the second time that night, she straightened, attempting to appear as if nothing was wrong. Her expression said otherwise, however.

"Fine…"

Yes, I'd definitely have to take her to the doctors… For now, I looked back at Tysan, impatiently prompting an answer from him.

"Er…yes! A figure of speech." He eyed the drawer again. "Of course, time travel doesn't actually exist…"

Debateable… "Hmm… You said something about those powers being…visible? And one having looked cracked or broken. Anything on that?"

Based on the tremors that were now visibly shaking the man's form I knew I couldn't delve much further than this. I was pushing him too close to his limits and it would be rather difficult to fend off any attacks if Justine was ill… This would have to be my last question for now.

"That is…"

But as I poised my pen to begin writing again, I saw another movement out of my peripheral. I turned in time to see Justine's hand fall limp from her forehead as she wavered slightly.

"Justine?"

And then she suddenly lurched sideways out of her chair.

"Justine!"

I launched out of my own chair to her side as she collapsed to the floor, the interview and any possible threat Tysan may have posed dropped from my mind.

"Dad…?" she murmured. "What's happened…?"

She was just barely conscious, her face pallid, her eyes ringed with black circles. I didn't respond, too focused on wrapping her arm round my neck and hoisting her, gently, up to her knees.

"Stop…" she uttered, her faint voice touched with irritation as she feebly struggled against my hold. "I can…stand up on my own…"

For a moment I trusted her. However, right as she straightened herself, she began to pitch forward once more and I grabbed her wrist to stop her. Again she attempted to struggle against me but I wouldn't have it as I tightened my grip.

"I'll have to head out," I said hastily as I turned back to Tysan. Though this wasn't his doing, I couldn't keep the anger from creasing my features, flaring in my eyes as I watched the man closely. "Thanks for your time."

With one hand holding Justine's arm and the other wrapped round her side, I quickly took my leave. I was determined to get Justine back home and in bed, but before I completely departed, I had the impulse to take a quick glance over my shoulder, back into Tysan's office. There, I saw Tysan had collapsed against his chair, positively relieved now that I was no longer there. On his desk he had placed a knife. I'd been right. My gut churned with sickness. Not the sort of thing I wanted to be correct about… As I continued to watch, the man opened his eyes after a drawn-out sigh and looked, yet again, to the draw at his desk. He _was_ hiding something, then. Something—it had to be…—about the powers. Possibly something about the murders…

And after I nursed my daughter back to health, I decided, I would return to find out what that something was.


	9. Chapter 8

Cold. Even in my haste. Cold and gloomy. And grey. So grey it looked about to break. And then it did. A light sprinkle, then a cascading downpour. Blimey… Sometimes I hated being bang on… I stopped. Shielded her. Then rushed onwards again.

"Alright, Clive?" came a voice. Someone's. A mate's? I didn't know. I didn't have time for niceties.

"Alright…"

I stepped inside. Sickness and death. I could see it. Hear it. Practically taste it. All around me. Closing in.

"You're doing fine… Now turn here…"

 _Will she be alright?_

A sudden cloying stench, noxious, mephitic, forced itself into the back of my throat, nearly causing me to gag.

"Don't be silly, you're barely conscious. I'll sign you in…"

 _Will my child be alright?_

There came a flash of light.

"Is there a Justine here?"

 _What if something goes wrong?_

Then the constant beep…beep…beep… that seemed as if it was bound to the beating of my own heart. Pumping it for me. Keeping me alive.

 _Clk-click…clk-click…clk-click…_

I couldn't help clutching a pen, mimicking the sound.

…How could this happen…?

…My daughter so ill she had fainted…

I watched a mental replay of Justine swaying in her chair. Collapsing to the floor.

I'd let her fall…

 _Clk-click…clk-click…clk-click…_

"…Dove…?"

Stop. She's going to be alright, you know that. She's strong… Remember when you were ill and Dad stayed home to take care of you? He was so worried you might die but it was only a little flu… Same with Justine… It's just a little bug, nothing to worry over…

But this isn't a normal cold. What if she's so ill she dies?

I had more than enough time to react…

More than enough time to catch her…

I'd let her fall!

 _Clk-click…clk-click…clk-click…_

"…Mr Dove…?"

Stop… Think of something else… Remember Dad telling you how nervous he had been when you were born? Mum had forbid anyone but herself and the proper hospital staff to accompany her during delivery…and not until she was rushed in on a hospital trolley did Dad learn that. The poor bloke. He was left to pace the waiting room, his thoughts as frantic as his stride…

Back…

 _Will she be alright?_

And forth…

 _Will my child be alright?_

Back…

 _What if something goes wrong?_

And forth…

It seemed I was sharing my father's dismay. My own feet pacing… Back and forth, back and forth… And thinking those exact words of Justine… Oh, Justine…

How could I let this happen…?

Justine fainting…

What was I doing wrong…?

 _Clk-click…clk-click…clk-click…_

"Please… Let her be alright…"

"Mr Dove?"

A voice. I blinked rapidly and looked up. A man in white…

"Please, have a seat," he said, his words taking a moment to register to my frazzled mind. "This shouldn't take long."

I blinked again. My head was just beginning to clear and I glanced around me as if awakening from a fever dream. White walls. Blue carpeted floor. Magazines on a small desk to my right. Rows and rows of chairs. Coughing, sniffling, ashen patients. All surrounding me. And I was stood in the middle of it all.

"Right…" I responded to the nurse who had addressed me. I tentatively seated myself.

After the nurse left, I thought over the past few minutes, elbows on knees, the tips of my steepled fingers against my forehead. Pacing… I had been pacing… And worrying. And wearing away. And before that I had carried Justine in here. Into the hospital. It was a wonder I even made it here. I had been running off pure instinct… But Justine was here now… She'd be safe… I leant over to set a comforting hand on her shoulder…only to feel my fingers pass through thin air. I threw a look in her direction and a shock of ice coursed my stomach when I saw she wasn't there.

"Justine!" I gasped, a flurry of scenarios and questions and locations instantly flooding my mind.

But then I remembered. That's right… She'd gone in with the nurse… I released a frustrated sigh, resting back against my chair, my weary eyes open only a fraction as I ran a hand through my hair. I was so wound up, I could barely think straight…

This apprehension… I knew at least part of it was from my own interview just an hour ago. With Tysan. I recalled his nervous, sweaty handshake. His eyes darting to that drawer. …That knife he'd rested atop his desk once I'd departed…

But I couldn't dismiss the truth. Beneath the restless waves of anxiety was a sinking guilt that had been dragging me under for the past hour, filling my lungs with icy water. Justine… Those headaches had been unremitting for at least a week so why hadn't I heeded those warning signs she was ill? Then I wouldn't have got her in this situation… I just shouldn't have let her accompany me to the interview…

But she would have joined me anyway after I let slip I was headed to Gressenheller…

But that's no excuse. I'm her father. I should have stopped her…

But she has such a strong will… She would have found a way…

Stop excusing her.

Stop excusing yourself.

 _Clk-click…clk-click…clk-click…_

I continued on like this for another hour. Sometimes I paced about, hands behind my back, eyes concentrated on the floor. Other times I was slumped in my seat, head hung in defeat. All the while, my mind reeled in an endless cycle. Blaming. Silence. Placation. Blaming. Silence. Placation. Blaming. Silence… Time for another attempt at placation I supposed… I thought of Constance and her wit. Mum and her kindness. Dad and his determination to always put family first. …Putting family first…

…I hadn't done that…

 _Clk-click._

"…Dove?"

I'd let this mystery get in the way…

 _Clk-click._

"…ur daughter…"

I'd promised them I wouldn't…

 _Clk-click._

Grey, once again. And wet. And cold.

Promised myself…

 _Clk-click._

"…ad…?"

I knew I wasn't up to scratch…

 _Clk-click. Clk-click._

"Dad…?"

I'm a terrible father…

 _Clk-click. Clk_ —

"Dad!"

I jerked my head up at the sound of the voice calling me back to the surface. I'd drifted under again… I expected to see the waiting room as I glanced around. But there were no white walls or blue carpet floors. No coughing and sniffling. No ashen faces everywhere I looked. No sickening odour… Instead, I was sat in a small and inviting room, the only light source a dim, warm, glow emitted from a small nightstand lamp. Video game and science posters overlapped one another on all four walls. A wooden desk, assembled with Cogg's help, stood proudly to my left, two gimp legs and all. Atop it were framed pictures of friends which rested atop some scattered quantum physics papers and books which rested partially atop two laptops. One for gaming. One for research. I was no longer in the hospital, but in Justine's room…back home. I couldn't seem to recall when I'd arrived or how.

I turned to Justine. She was lying in bed underneath two blankets and a light, fuzzy throw with a video game graphic, watching me with a perplexed expression. I vaguely recalled carrying her inside, covering her up. Now I was waiting for her to return to me. She had. Finally… Despite having seated myself in a chair I'd pulled up to her bedside at one point, for some reason I felt it necessary to stand.

"You're awake," I said simply, I suppose as some sort of greeting. How to address this situation…? "A-Are you feeling alright?"

"Of course I am." A faint smile touched her pale lips. This quickly grew into an impish smirk, returning some colour to her face and fire to her eyes. "So you can quit worrying."

"Worrying? Who's worrying?" I asked. _Clk-click. Clk-click._ "Not me."

"Mm-hmm…" She glanced to my hand but the implication behind such a look didn't really register to me as she continued. "I hope you didn't spend five-hundred pounds on a doctor for me or something…"

"No, I didn't." She seemed to appreciate this…until I continued. "I spent upwards of a thousand pounds on a doctor for you. I wasn't about to leave any page unturned so I requested more extensive testing. An x-ray, a CT scan, an MRI… And it's a good job you were unconscious because there was a blood test in the mix as well."

"Dad…"

"In addition," I lifted a notepad and straightened my glasses, skimming some jagged notes I'd scrawled in anxious haste, "After this whole ordeal, I've been considering a new diet for you. More vegetables and more red meats. Less rubbish. Like those microwavable pizzas… I'm chucking them away."

"No, Dad!"

"And less time spent on the computer. No wonder your head hurts. You're probably being exposed to some sort of radiation with how much you stare at that screen…"

"Firstly, that's not how radiation works…"

"And I was thinking I should bin the internet as well…"

"Dad, calm down! You're really talking nonsense now!"

I stopped, watching Justine a moment, digesting her words. I truly believed this last note might actually be a good idea, but…she was right… I was rambling. And now that she had rested, she seemed quite a lot better. Perhaps it was time I finally allow myself to relax a bit… I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Okay…" I smiled in defeat. "You win. I suppose I have nothing to worry about when all those tests turned up negative, anyway."

"So…" she queried slowly, "there's nothing wrong with me?"

She looked bewildered, as if she was expecting me to admit there had been one more test and it was positive for something detrimental. To reassure her, I flashed a teasing smirk. "Well, nothing other than the usual…" And for this I received a swift punch in the bicep. "My! Despite being bedridden, you certainly have a good arm!"

"And don't you forget it…" She beamed mischievously, even more life igniting in her eyes. Just as I had planned. I mirrored her expression.

"Don't go raising your blood pressure, now. I was told stress was a leading factor for your fainting episode, after all…"

I had begun to chuckle, thankful for this light-hearted moment and that stress really was the only issue. In fact, the more I thought on it, the giddier with joy I felt. It hadn't been cancer. Or anything worse… And then, I noticed all playfulness had abruptly left Justine.

"Stress…?"

She was thinking rather hard, puzzled once more… Did she really believe she was ill with something far worse?

"Your schedule is rather packed," I said in an attempt to convince her. "School, an internship, friends, researching far too long into the night. You may be a young'un but your body still needs its rest, Just."

"Yeah…"

Still she was not convinced. Why might this be? Could she have experienced something else while fainting to cause her to believe otherwise? Just then, thoughts of my own families returned to me yet again and it occurred to me. Maybe she was stressed in a different sense… I thought back about ten years. To one of my visits with Justine before I'd adopted her. So much had been different back then. Her name. Her personality. Her living conditions… She had been so small. And frail. Undernourished…

" _Good morning, Homuragi,_ " I'd said with a forced smile, hoping I'd pronounced her given name properly. " _How are you today?_ "

This had been my fifth meeting with Justine and I had felt just as insecure as the first. This was partially due to my guilty conscience, forever stained red with the crimes I'd committed as a young adult. What a joke it was the man who had destroyed London was attempting to be a father… If even one person broke the spell and remembered who I was, what I'd done, they'd laugh me right out of my ability to adopt… But alongside this, I'd been accosted by thoughts of my father for the past few months I'd been meeting Justine. Would I ever be able to fill his shoes? Not only with basic knowledge of being a parent but with the virtues and morals he'd upheld as well? Despite all the classes, meetings, evaluations, I still didn't feel prepared…

Noting Justine hadn't responded to my greeting, I'd looked to her. And it was then I noticed how frightened she appeared; hands behind her back, shoulders hunched, head down as if she was about to be beaten. My brow furrowed. It was difficult to keep my already wavering smile from disappearing entirely. She'd always been reserved but it wasn't the same this visit… Observing closer, I noticed tear stains, still a bit wet, running from her eyes and off the sides of her cheeks. She'd been crying in her sleep.

What would Dad say?

" _Is something bothering you, Homuragi?_ " I'd asked. I'd stooped to her level, hoping this would help ease her." _You can tell me if you'd like._ "

She'd looked to me, her eyes, red and damp, searching my features so closely it felt as though she was analysing my very being, looking into my soul and seeing the dirt and grime it harboured. Great… I didn't need two people scrutinising me… When she'd finished, she averted her gaze again.

"… _Nightmare…_ "

My heart broke at the sound of the faint quiver in her already barely audible voice. From the person in charge of the orphanage—a man whom I'd imagine I thought looked a lot like Dad due to the theme of my thoughts at the time—I knew a bit of Justine's background. I could imagine—no, I knew _precisely_ —what nightmares she'd meant. The acrid stench of smoke and ash. The effulgent, devouring flames. The roaring inferno and screams of agony. The guilt of not having been able to save them and the confusion and fear of what would happen next. This derelict building filled to the brim with strangers who didn't care for her existence. If she died that very day, good riddance. Less work for them. And the waiting. And hoping. And trusting. Only to find misery and despair. It was all too familiar to me as well.

And now that I'd considered this, it was just then I'd felt I didn't need my father to answer for me. I knew what this girl—my future daughter—had gone through. I understood it on such a personal level, we could have experienced the same event. In fact, she was me in a way. A younger me, when everything I had loved was swept away by a raging conflagration.

Yes, I could step away from my father's guidance, at least this once. I could let first-hand experience do the talking.

" _I understand._ " I'd responded softly. " _I have the same nightmares too sometimes, even as an adult._ "

She'd studied me again, longer than ever.

"… _You do…?_ "

" _Yes._ " A warm smile had touched my lips, genuine this time. " _It's not fun, losing your parents. And waiting for new parents…it seems like it takes forever, doesn't it?_ " She'd nodded, her stiff composure loosening a bit. " _But you don't have to worry. I'll keep visiting and making sure you're alright. And before you know it, we'll be driving away from all these people and off to my house, just you and me._ "

Upon saying this, I'd seen something in those sad, dark, lifeless eyes. Something I'd not seen during any other visit. A faint flicker of hope. A glimmer of happiness just waiting to ignite into a brilliant radiance. A spark of excitement that desired to rise from the ashes of many broken promises. I had begun to restore the life she had indulged in everyday when her parents were still alive. So, this was what fatherhood promised…

" _Come on,_ " I'd said, straightening up, feeling a bit more confident now. " _Let's have a walk round the park. I do it all the time after a nightmare and it helps me feel better._ "

As she'd slowly, hesitantly stepped forward, I'd felt inclined to offer my hand. It's what Dad and Mum would do with me, at least. But I had decided against this at the last second. I'd completely forgotten something. I had to remember back to when I was first adopted. How Constance was so excited and ready to give me a home. And of course I'd wanted a parent. But I'd wanted _my_ parents. I'd wanted them back. Because _they_ had known me, understood me, been able to provide for me in every situation. A stranger was someone I'd had to restart everything with. All twelve years of my life I'd had to re-experience with someone completely new to who I was. Not to mention, my mind had already been so completely consumed with the emotions roiling inside me. Guilt, shame, anger, denial, sorrow, depression… There was enough there to deal with. I hadn't needed this feeling of obligation to recognise some stranger as a parent.

And all that despair from back then… I knew this was exactly what Justine felt now. I had to keep in mind how Constance had understood that of me. She had let me come to her at my own pace, let me call her Mum when I was ready. Now, as an adoptive father who was prepared to offer my home to a child in need, I had to allow Justine to do the same. Let her come to me in _her_ own time. Call me Dad when _she_ felt ready. I'd smiled. Maybe I really would know what I was doing. Of course I wouldn't forget to consult Dad for help when I'd need it!

I had been so deeply lost in these thoughts, I hadn't realised something was touching my fingers. Something cold. And small. Something clutching so tightly it was as if it was clinging on for dear life. And upon realising what it was, my pondering halted completely in its tracks as did my feet. I'd looked to Justine…and I'd seen she was holding my hand, watching me closely yet again, as if testing me.

 _Can you really be my father?_

And now that she had my full attention, her hand felt even smaller, more fragile. And shaky. And so very, very cold… On impulse, I'd gently squeezed it.

 _Yes,_ I'd answered her tacit plea. _I know you've lost everything. And I know starting over is difficult. But I can and will be your father—provide for you, listen to you, love you. And there's no rush. You accept me only when you're ready._ I'd added for good measure something I'm sure Constance had promised as well, probably many times, _I will never let anything or anyone hurt you again._

And then, I'd witnessed something miraculous. A smile, ever so small but still visible, touching Justine's lips. I'd nearly cried tears of both compassion and utter bliss. It looked like she was already accepting me as her father!

Later that very week, I'd received a call explaining I had been approved to adopt Justine. I remembered the exact moment I'd heard this, where I'd been in the house, what article I'd been working on, what I'd been drinking (Earl Grey) and eating. I'd suddenly felt light as a feather, nearly floating straight off my chair. I'd flown out of the house just then, everything a bit of a blur, until I'd arrived at the orphanage. And there I'd met Justine, walking out the door with only a plush fox and the shirt and trousers she already had on. I couldn't help beaming. She now truly was my little girl. And the first thing we were going to do was shop for clothing and toys and books she could finally call her own. I'd offered my hand to lead her to the car and, though still a bit hesitant, she had accepted. It had been the happiest day of my life.

And yet, it had also been the saddest. At least, for a moment. I hadn't really thought about it much when visiting Justine all that time, but now that she wouldn't have to stay here and I wouldn't have to return, I'd realised I'd be leaving all the rest of those kids behind. That was rather unfair… I had known their pain without knowing them. They too wanted a home and family and clothing and toys to call their own. But I couldn't save them all… That was unrealistic. And Justine… She had been the most neglected… Maybe because she had been the 'new kid'. Maybe because of her race. Surely she deserved to leave more than anyone…

But I knew that wasn't true and I was blaming the orphanage to justify my guilt. Those kids still had their whole lives ahead of them. Lives meant to be spent truly living, not rotting away in some slum… And if I left this place in its current state, the situation would stagnate. There had to be something I could do…

Then a solution came to me. It was such a simple but effective strategy for improvement, I wasn't sure how I'd not thought of it before. I could supply a percent of my monthly earnings for the orphanage. I knew all too well money wouldn't provide them the love and happiness they deserved, but it would at least fulfil basic needs—healthy foods, refurbishments to broken down bits of the building, maybe a few new toys—until they were adopted by a parent who could offer much more. Considering how much money I'd wasted on my worthless plans for revenge, it was the slightest I could do. Constance would have been proud…

With this in mind, I'd spoke straight away with the man who ran the orphanage, offering a couple thousand pounds for that month's coverage. I could see a rekindling of hope in his eyes as he thanked me again and again for the generous donation. When I'd mentioned the same amount for months to come, that was when the tears had begun. I couldn't help feeling a bit teary-eyed myself. I was reassured the kids I was leaving behind were in good hands. I'd turned to the car to see Justine sat in the passenger's seat, watching me with that cautiously hopeful smile. And I had a daughter to call my own. I could now safely confirm this was the happiest day of my life.

I began to return from these thoughts, finding myself smiling warmly at such a memory. But all too quickly this expression began to fade as I recalled the current situation. Justine's illness… Despite having been living in much better conditions for the past ten years, her parents' deaths, that orphanage and everything in between encroached upon a good chunk of her life. So much pain and suffering… Ten years… Twenty years… I myself knew it didn't matter. No amount of time was enough to clear it away completely and somewhere in the back of her mind those events always prowled, like a greedy wolf waiting to spring forth, devouring her cheerfulness and sensibility until she was reduced to that scared little girl once more. It was no surprise she had fallen so ill…

Then again…this theory didn't seem to add up. Those events were forever part of who she was, but she wasn't always ill… And I didn't believe the murders were causing her to feel faint. She wasn't bothered by the murderer himself at least. In fact, she had gone out or requested to do so multiple nights despite knowing she could be in danger. It was more when she talked or heard about the murders or murderer directly. Was that it? Or was it something more? What had changed?

And then I realised. There hadn't been a newsworthy murder like this in London since my own massacre. And though I had always been busy as a reporter, I had made time to visit with Justine in the morning and eat with her in the evening. Even force a bit of family fun game nights on her from time to time. Now that there was a murderer running about, I was leaving far too early and returning home by the time she was already gone for school. I was cutting tea short. Scheduling extra interviews which took up even more time… _That's_ what had changed. _I_ had changed. I had allowed business to consume my thoughts, my actions, my schedule… I thought back to when I was leaving the orphanage. From the moment the adoption was approved, I'd always been there for her…up until this last week…

"…said I'm well, so I'm out of here."

This last bit of what Justine was saying registered to me, drawing me back completely to the present, and as I looked to her, I nearly cried out in horror. She was attempting to get out of bed, so ashen she could pass out again at any second!

"What are you doing?! Lie down!" I set my hands on her shoulders, stopping her. "You're ill!"

"I've got to go, Dad!" she insisted as she attempted to wriggle out of my hold. "People are waiting for me at the bakery!"

"Surely you're having a laugh? You need your rest! And what have I said about going out this late? No one is this important you need risk your life to see them!" I took one look at her pallid face and knew she had been planning to meet Fayne. I sighed. "Just…lay back down, please…"

Maybe she hadn't been thinking hard on her past before after all, I thought, a bit disappointed. In fact, it had probably been something else entirely. Her scheme to sneak out with Fayne in order to plan prom… I only knew about this from eavesdropping on her when she had spoken with the lad just last night and instead of addressing it then as I should have, I'd left it. Unfortunately, I still didn't have much of an answer as to how to go about stopping Justine. She was becoming only more independent and strong-willed with each day's passing. If I confronted her, I knew I'd only irritate her until she attended purely out of spite. My… Sometimes I felt it had been better when she was a little girl, too reserved to do much of anything with anyone…

In any case, there was a killer about… The school shouldn't even be hosting something like this! I wanted to protest. And maybe that wasn't such a bad idea after all, protesting. But that would take time. Time I didn't have. And considering the constabulary didn't believe the situation critical enough to enforce a curfew, what would be the point? People would still be out on the streets and, if prom was cancelled, I was sure some kids would still find a way to have their own. Justine being one of those kids, especially if she found out I was the one to have requested its cancellation…

In the end, it seemed my only solution was to continue what I was already doing. Solving these puzzles and putting an end to this killer's spree. I recalled my interview with Tysan. There was no doubt he was hiding something to do with this mystery. Whether it was the book in a building of knowledge or something else, I had to find out. Whatever it was, he had certainly wanted to protect it…

I now thought of the knife. How Tysan had placed it on his desk when I'd left. How he'd only wielded it once Justine had stepped foot in his office… Had he been planning to off us both? Or only her? I suppose if my theory was true, that he was somehow killing for someone, possibly even an incarcerated Bill Hawks, then he would want us both dead since I was discussing the powers after Justine stepped into his office. I clenched my jaw. What a turn of events… The man I'd trusted to care for my daughter when she and Fayne played together as kids… Plotting to kill us… I should have never mentioned I was leaving for that interview! I couldn't very well allow her to visit Tysan's house anymore let alone attend prom with his son! In fact, I shouldn't even be allowing her to go to school with his son! What if he tried to attack her there, while she was out of my sight… Or made Fayne do it? Perhaps I could resolve all this by just enforcing my own curfew on Justine. Make her submit a schedule so I could know exactly where she was and at what time…

There came a sigh to my right, causing me to blink away the rest of my thoughts, and I looked to Justine. She had laid back down, her right arm crossed over her eyes, a sulky frown on her dangerously pale lips. Oh my… I'd done it again… My compunction returned, interweaving itself amongst my insides and pulling taut. I'd allowed business to take precedence over my own daughter… This was why she was ill in the first place, remember!

I had to force myself to stop this. Now. People were being killed but…for once, I couldn't be worried about the future; how to predict what the murderer may or may not do or what trouble Justine might get into. Not right now. Right now I had to be here, in the present, by her side. Just as I had been from the very beginning. I needed to restore that promise I'd made all those years ago.

Remember Dad. Always put family first.

With this, I made an effort to file the mystery into the back of my mind. When I felt certain it wouldn't pop into my thoughts again tonight, I stood once more and brightened my mood.

"So, my lady," I said as I jokingly crossed an arm in front of me like I was her servant for the evening. "How may I assist you in your time of need?"

She glanced underneath her arm at me. "I'm fine." she murmured. "I don't need anything…"

Of course, she wasn't about to accept my offer right away… Even if her unconscious was crying out for help in the form of her illness, she was far too stubborn to ever ask for it… I had to keep trying. Maybe a basic incentive would suffice.

"Surely you must be hungry? It's half-nine and you haven't eaten since lunch…"

But instead of Justine, it was my own stomach that agreed with a low, drawn-out grumble that rolled through the silence of her room. I didn't need to see her narrowed eyes to feel the very sharp daggers coming from them…

"Sounds like _you_ haven't eaten…" she murmured accusingly. "And why exactly would that be…?"

"Surely you'll forgive me for taking care of my daughter while she was unconscious…" In a potential killer's office…

"Your daughter was perfectly capable of taking care of herself…" Justine countered.

"Really, now?" I countered in return. "Is that why I carried you out of Gressenheller and into the hospital and—"

"Look, I don't need anything… Just go eat. I'll get something later."

She was making this incredibly difficult. Go figure, I supposed… I wouldn't give up, though.

"What can I get you?" I tried again.

She moved her arm from her eyes, watching me as if to incinerate me.

"I don't need anything! I'm not so ill I can't take care of myself! Just go!"

"What can I get you?"

"I. Don't. Need. Anything!"

"What. Can. I. Get. You?"

For a moment our stubborn glares bore into one another. And then Justine backed off. But I knew the fight wasn't over yet as she closed her eyes, lifted her eyebrows and smirked.

"What you can get me? A father who's eaten supper."

Nice try… "Later… After you tell me what _you_ want."

"Fine then. You can get me a microwavable pizza."

I sighed. "You know I can't do that. I've changed your diet."

She continued on cheekily. "Then I guess you'll just have to make something for yourself and not come back…"

"You're killing me…"

" _You're_ the one killing you!"

For a moment I stayed standing there, my mind working, stitching together the pieces of a strategy that would turn the tide of this battle. Then, I was the one to smirk. I turned round and headed for the kitchen.

"Now don't come back…" I heard her call in suspicious warning.

In about ten minutes' time, however, I did come back, and with tea for both of us, much to Justine's annoyance.

"A simple salad for me," I said, reseating myself as I set my bowl on the nightstand. While handing Justine her pizza, I remarked, "and a circular hunk of cardboard for you."

She gave me a look. "I told you not to come back…" I mixed some dressing into my salad as a response. She carried on. "At least my 'cardboard' has more flavour than a bunch of leaves… Get it? _Leaves_? Like _you_ should be doing right now?" Again, I didn't respond. Getting flustered, she jabbed a forefinger at my salad. "That's not tea either. That's a side dish that goes _with_ tea. Go make a steak and some veg or something. And don't come back this time!"

"I'm not leaving," I said, completely unyielding as I took a bite of salad. "Not until you're better."

"How many times do I have to tell you?" she went on protesting despite my tone. "I'm fine!"

To prove her point, she tried getting out of bed once more and I felt the urge to stop her as I witnessed what little colour had returned to her face quickly drain away again. I decided against this, however. It was clear she wasn't listening to me so maybe own body's limitations should do the talking. With one arm crossed over the other holding my bowl, I sat back in my chair, watching her with both complacence and concern as she struggled, and lo and behold, just as she straightened, she was forced to drop back on her bed, leaning over with a hand pressured to her forehead.

"Well, well," I said with a mocking lilt, "What do you know? It seems dads can be right about some things…"

"That doesn't count," came yet another protest. Through clenched teeth and white lips, I might add. My patience was starting to wear thin… "I get a do over…in a sec—"

"No." It was a simple yet imposing command. One I'd had to use only a handful of times when she was just a tad too defiant. As always, it had worked quite well. Her recalcitrance disappeared immediately and she was watching me, wide-eyed. "No do overs. No going out. No friends." Yet, with how fast my fury had swept through me, it was snuffed out the moment I saw her blanch even further. I couldn't stop the compassion from softening my features. "Please… Just rest now."

Justine finally decided to comply with me, leaning back against the headboard without another word. Already her complexion was returning to a its normal golden-peach, yet she kept her fingertips pressed to her forehead. Still more headaches? But she was looking better, so why…?

"Look…" she began. I could hear the frustrated undertone in her voice, see her posture grow rigid and I knew she was uncomfortable with what she was about to say next. "I'm not trying to be disrespectful or anything… I just…I know you have other stuff to do…"

I pondered these words. Paired with her body language it seemed she was talking about the murders. A bit odd, that… Ever since I'd begun investigating the very first one, she'd never wanted even me to mention them let alone reference them herself. I ventured into this.

"What do you mean?"

"That…murderer…" She paused, wincing, and I quickly motioned to hold her steady in case she fainted again. Despite this, she pressed on. "Those…puzzles are part of the murders… You have to keep solving them to stop him, right?"

Much like a key unlocking a filing cabinet, these words seemed to access the back of my mind and pull to the front the mystery I'd filed away. At once, I wished to ponder what had happened and what was happening and what might happen, to this city I'd rebuilt, to the peace that had been restored, to everyone if I kept wasting time… Remember Dad, I thought, fighting back the waves of urgency that suddenly surged through me. I wanted to solve and brood over and worry, but… Remember what he'd do in this situation. Justine needed me.

"What puzzles?" I asked her, playing dumb. "The most important task on my agenda today is taking care of my daughter." The only response I received was a grumble as she looked away, growing only more frustrated. What was on her mind? I knew she hated when I fussed over her, but this seemed like something more… Perhaps answering her question properly would provide me some answers. "Yes. I intend to solve the puzzles until I've run out of clues and come to a solution to resolve these murders."

"Then stop worrying about me," she answered suddenly, nearly cutting me off. "You're letting the murderer get away when I can take care of myself…"

I watched her, pondering what she'd said and comparing these words to her facial contours. The two contradicted each other strangely enough. Her words were pushing me away while her expression was tight, her brow furrowed, her eyes staring directly at me as if pleading against her own comment… And that's when I realised. She wasn't out of sorts because I was fussing over her. Rather, she was frustrated with herself. Had been this whole time… All this urging to go out or for me to leave… She was upset her illness was the centre of my attention and she had wanted to be out of my way so I would focus on the mystery and not her… Again, my guilt writhed inside me. I wondered if this was the result of my having been more caught up in this case than caring for her this past week…

"And don't forget," Justine continued, her voice almost smooth with conceit while her expression grew even more rocky, "every second you waste, the killer…has more of a chance to take another life…"

I was far too aware of how true that was and so my voice faltered. "I know that…" But I didn't move.

"Many other people are dying… I'm just one person…"

"I know." I still didn't move.

"So go! Why are you staying here with me, attending to silly things like my temperature and whether I've eaten—things _I'm_ perfectly capable of attending to—when many people are completely vulnerable?"

For the past few days I'd been struggling with blaming myself for having failed to catch this murderer by now and these doubts had only grown more unruly since. Perhaps this had been obvious because it seemed Justine was calling up my insecurities intentionally. Worst part was, she was right. Every second I spent here, the murderer earned another second to kill. And another. And another…

Remember Dad…

"The public is not without protection…" I answered her slowly, my mind working through valid arguments as I spoke, grasping at straws with which to fight my own qualms and her pressuring. "They've been armed with knowledge. From my paper and my articles written on the killer and the crime scenes. And even if my agency isn't the most read newspaper, people talk. I'd imagine your friends have mentioned the killer? Possibly even teachers, telling you to be safe? What about social media? You teenagers are on loads of sites that spread this news about." She had been watching me closely, but the moment I said this, she averted her gaze and I knew my suspicions were confirmed. "So then, by now, everyone knows they're potentially in danger. It's their choice to walk about knowing the killer could be amongst them."

"But that's just a temporary fix!" she countered, staring me down again.

"You're right, it is," I admitted. "The killer still exists as a threat and information isn't exactly a tangible object, like a shield, that can keep him out. I can't guarantee no one else will be killed…but what I can guarantee is common sense and knowledge will keep them alive longer."

"We're back to square one, then. You need all the time you can get to solve those puzzles but you're wasting it on me." She scrutinised me, challenged me.

"Time spent caring for my daughter isn't wasted." I held her gaze, met her challenge.

"I'm fine, though. The doctors said I would be."

"'Would be.' You're not at full health right now."

"The point is I'm alive!

"And you're rather ill."

"But families are dying!"

"I don't care."

"Why?!"

"Because _my_ family comes first."

Quiet. Completely and totally. So moving this simple sentence had been to Justine, so powerful, she hadn't even opened her mouth to protest against this. In fact, she could do nothing but watch me, and I noticed her eyes had taken on that same sheen as my fifth meeting with her at the orphanage. After I'd given her tiny, cold hand a warm, loving squeeze. She had been testing me, expecting yet another person to give up on her as thousands before already had…only to watch, utterly gobsmacked, as one turned against the crowd and accepted her instead.

"You have a fever," I continued. "You're pale as a ghost. You can barely stand without passing out! Do you really think I'm going to leave your side? Yes, there's a murderer out there, but…" I thought of Dad again. How he always put family first. How I'd promised him I'd do the same when I'd adopted Justine. I had failed. Again and again these past few weeks, I had failed. And, just like at the orphanage, I knew I needed his help. These next words had to come from him before I myself could fully abide by them. "That's what a father does. Even if his work involves saving others, he places _his_ family above all else."

Justine's brow furrowed for a split second, and though to most this twitch would have been seemingly insignificant, to me it revealed many noteworthy emotions. Confusion. Happiness. A bit of relief that her test to get me to leave had failed. I expected nothing less of an adopted child who had been searching all over again for her father's love. I had never meant to take that away from her and I would never let it happen again.

As soon as this expression had disappeared, it was replaced by a flustered determination, Justine's eyes skipping about the floor, scouring for evidence that could destroy my claims. She seemed unable to find any, though, as a few seconds later, enough time for her to have raised several objections, she still remained speechless. This was the quietest I'd ever seen her. I couldn't help but feel pleased. At least I'd won one battle tonight.

And, in a moment, it would be two…

"Now then," I said, breaking the serious mood with a smile. I took the plate of pizza off her bed where she'd set it at one point during our argument and placed it on her lap. "Your cardboard's getting cold. Better eat up or you'll never be well again. And then I'd have to dote on you even longer…"

With this comment, rather ominous to her I'd presume, Justine began to devour her pizza…and then, just as planned, she stopped short, her eyes wide like she'd just bit into a crunchy insect.

"Gross!" she spat. "This isn't normal pizza!" she took just the tip of her finger and peeled back a bit of cheese topping as if inspecting a rotting corpse. "This has vegetables in it!"

I laughed triumphantly as I walked for her door, about to head for the kitchen. "Surely you didn't believe I was going to let you get away with eating rubbish after I'd changed your diet?"

That was all it took. Justine drew back her arm and I had to launch myself out her room before she could literally toss my joke back in my face.

For those past few minutes while Justine and I had talked, I hadn't been paying much attention to the time. And that's probably why it had felt like minutes… Instead, a couple hours had gone by and as soon as I noticed it was eleven in the evening as displayed by the stove clock, all the day's stress began to settle on me. Light at first, and then heavier until I could feel the constant stinging in my muscles, a persistent ache in my back, a weariness threatening to close my eyes…

Even so, with Dad's words of wisdom fresh in my mind, I spent what little was left of the night caring for Justine. My first order of business, a more sufficient tea for the both of us. With a bit of help from Mum this time, I cooked up a steak and some veg for me as Justine had recommended and a mixture of rice, veg and beef for her.

"Mmm! Delicious!" Justine had exclaimed once we'd both finished our meals. "That was really good, Dad!" Already, she'd started to look quite a lot like her old self again.

I'd smiled and straightened my tie. "You think so? It wasn't anything special to be honest. Just some plain beef and—"

"Uurrrp!"

Justine cut me off with a sudden and rather loud belch and I'd shot a withering look. "What do you say?"

But of course, I'd not expected much. Instead of excusing herself, she'd flashed me an impish grin. "Now it's your go! C'mon, Dad, you can do it!"

"Not going to happen…"

I couldn't resist a smile, though. She'd started acting like her old self again as well.

After such a late supper and due to her illness, I'd expected Justine to be quite wore out alongside me. Yet, once I'd cleaned up dishes and returned to tuck her in, she was still wide awake. Enough so to playfully tempt me into watching a film. I was surprised. It had been so long since she'd wanted to have a movie night with anyone but her friends. I couldn't possibly shoot this opportunity down!

And so, after enquiring which film she wished for me to pick out which incited an argument about how films no longer needed to be 'picked out' and anyone could just choose any they wanted from off the internet, we settled on something animated. It had featured these colourful little personifications, all with their own task to help shape a young girl's personality and see her through some tough times growing up. Not my first choice. I would have gone with a murder-mystery or something factual, historical. But it had been a lovely film in the end. And at least it hadn't been another quantum physics documentary with all those confusing equations and theories…

And talking of quantum physics… No night was complete for Justine if she didn't devour at least one physics book before bed, ill or not it seemed. Once our film ended, Justine retrieved one of her newest novels, _The Hidden Reality_ , from where it had been laying at the ready on the other side of her bed and began to take notes. It was about one in the morning at this time and I could have collapsed. Justine even insisted I go to bed, but still I stayed by her side, deciding to get a bit of reading in myself. Half an hour later, I looked up from my book and noticed, finally, she had fallen fast asleep. I chuckled. She was sprawled out, one hand resting between the final few pages she couldn't get through, another holding a pen that had scribbled straight off onto her covers. After replacing her book and writing utensil on the nightstand, I tucked her in, kissed her on the forehead and departed from her room.

And yet, despite the exhaustion that clung to every fibre of my being, I didn't drop into bed straight away. My apprehension over the murders, unfortunately, had come wandering back like an uninvited guest, taking up space and keeping me awake even longer. Once I seated myself at my desk, I began to refamiliarise myself with my wall of notes and some of the newest advancements in the case. How I believed Tysan was hiding something on the Powers. How he might have lied in the journal about his dig for a 'major artefact'. How Bill Hawks might also be involved. Might be my enemy once again…

" _And don't forget…_ " While reading about the death count—three so far—Justine's words came back to me. " _Every second you waste, the killer has more of a chance to take another life…_ " I continued on, but not without the anxiety already lurking at the back of my mind beginning to materialise, like an assassin stepping out of the shadows to take aim.

Bill Hawks may have blackmailed Professor Layton into hiding my identity. And he may have also blackmailed Tysan. This, I presumed, was a plot he'd concocted in order to have his own revenge on me… I wondered… Could I even handle struggling against him without letting my anger consume me like it had back then? When I'd attempted to destroy his city in return for his destroying my life?

" _These…puzzles are part of the murders…_ " Again, Justine's words returned." _You have to keep solving them to stop him, right?_ " And again I ignored them, focusing on the last few sheets on my wall that picked apart the deciphered insect puzzle.

'I can't explain just yet how you are involved or why these answers need to be solved as puzzles.' 'All I can say is you're important to me. That's the only way you can read this.' 'Please continue on'… What was the intention of the very beginning message? A cautious plea about a malicious third party? Or complacent patience as the author watched their plan unfold?

" _You need all the time you can get to solve those puzzles…_ "

'The one closest can't see what you see, the one furthest can.' Meaning someone I trusted couldn't see these insects while someone I didn't could… Again, possibly Bill Hawks…

"… _but you're wasting it on me…_ "

'The truth to them is not a mystery, the truth to them is a sham.' One person or two? Maybe even more?

" _So go! Why are you staying here with me…_ "

'The answers are concealed in darkness, the solutions do take flight, the shadows are rather heartless, so hunt only by the light.' Darkness and light… Were these figurative?

"… _many people are vulnerable…_ "

'That is when all will be revealed.' Translation: Good bleeding luck…

With a groaning sigh, I seated myself heavily in my chair, staring up at the wall like it was the physical roadblock preventing me from catching the criminal. Justine was right about everything she had said… The murderer was still out there, still a looming threat, and I hadn't even strategized my next move yet… I knew I needed that book on the Powers… So head back to Gressenheller? Try a different building of knowledge? Perhaps the library would be the next best location…? I didn't know if this would be the right building of knowledge. Maybe Gressenheller was where that poem wanted me to find the book, considering Tysan's reactions to my asking him about the Powers. And maybe I should be planning out another interview with him…? I may know about the knife he had been about to attack Justine and me with, but he was not aware of my knowing this. I could use this to my advantage, feign ignorance and perhaps still ease some answers out of him. He was part of this mystery somehow… He had to be… If not the bit involving the book, then another aspect of it. In the end, I'd need to confront him again. And this time, only my life would be on the line…

With this last promise, a thought of Justine came to mind…and then I realised I had once again fixated on this mystery instead of considering her. She might not even be fully recovered by tomorrow and here I was thinking about leaving her behind to head to the library!

I sighed once more, hanging my head as I drew a hand through my hair. Again, my apprehension was causing me to justify putting aside my own needs as well as Justine's to puzzle out this case. But I knew I couldn't do that. Not for another week. Not even another day. Only yesterday I'd been able to enjoy sleeping and eating a proper meal again and it had been around two weeks before that…

At the same time, I couldn't just ignore the murders either… I glowered, a blast of fiery anger flashing through me as I very nearly slammed my fist on the desk. There had to be some way!

I thought of the case and the others who were part of it. The police…and Inspector Brown… And then I thought of Inspector Chelmey…and Growsky and many other members of Scotland Yard I'd met throughout the years. All dedicated to their job… There had to be some way they ate and slept, had families, their own ambitions—their own _lives_ —whilst staying abreast of the countless murder cases they took on each and every day for years.

So what was the answer? How did I care for my little girl, have a life of my own, enjoy myself, indulge in even the most basic needs, when there was a murderer out there? I had to accept I didn't know. And… I checked my desk clock. Two in the morning. There was no way I'd find out tonight… Perhaps it would behove me to speak with Inspector Brown on this matter the next time I saw him. I looked to the murder tally on my wall. Three. And the time between the second and third murder had dropped from a week apart to merely two days apart. I was in luck…or out of luck… I just might be seeing him again rather soon…

Not wishing to ponder on this much longer, I decided to head to bed. But it was too late. The moment I fell asleep, my stress reawakened, like a venomous snake slithering in the shadows. I tossed and turned, mimicking the movements of its undulating body as it raced up, then it coiled around my insides and struck, sinking its toxic fangs into my mind, lacing my dreams with a sickening vacillation. To protect my daughter or save a city? To meet both our human needs or solve the puzzle…? I was dragged back into the waking world at three. And again at four. And again at five… Finally, after having been startled awake at six from a nightmare about the murderer slicing my daughter's throat clean in half, I'd had enough. It was clear I wasn't about to have a restful sleep so I might as well get up…

And it seemed the beginning to my day wouldn't be much better. The poisonous anxiety of my nightmares seeped into my thoughts, causing me to go back and forth, back and forth on what I should do. Head to the library today to look for the book? Maybe check up on Justine first?

But she needs her space. Even I can understand that.

So go study your notes.

But perhaps I should verify she's alright, just in case…

But the murders…

In the end, I couldn't decide between the two so I opted for a third option. Defeated, tired and more exhausted than when I'd gone to bed last night, I trudged for the kitchen to have just one slice of beans on toast and one cup of Earl Grey. This certainly wouldn't end my nagging worries over the murders but I needed to stop directly confronting them, even if only for a moment. As for my other issue, perhaps leaving Justine alone for a bit was for the best. Maybe doing so would encourage her to respect me more, make her think twice about meeting up with Fayne to plan prom. I could only hope at this point…

I took a moment to attempt enjoying such a dismally small breakfast, constantly pushing away thoughts of the murderer. To my surprise I was at least somewhat satisfied in the end and I was able to increase my mood slightly after I freshened up with a long, hot shower. This was probably the closest I'd get to contented all day, I acknowledged after I'd shaved and dressed. So I supposed now might be the best time to check up on Justine. With this, I cleared my dishes and headed for her room.

"Good morning, Just," I greeted softly after two knocks. I poked my head in, expecting to see her just beginning to wake up. It seemed she was already out of bed so I opened her door a bit wider for a better look and, to my horror, she was getting dressed rather hastily, her complexion bleached and sickly. She looked ready to black out any second! "What do you think you're doing?!" I cried, rushing in and nearly sweeping her up in my arms.

"Getting…ready for…school…?" she said between laboured breaths, sidestepping away from me. "And…since I couldn't hang out…with friends last night…I'm meeting them this morning…at the bakery…"

"Absolutely not! You're positively _knackered_!"

"I'm fine…!" she insisted as she fumbled about with a buckling belt.

"Okay, okay, stop for a second," I demanded, holding up my palms. "Stop moving."

She did so. She was still breathing hard and her face drained of even more colour. Just as I'd suspected… While waiting for me to say something, she held out her hands and raised her eyebrows. "What…is it?"

"You know what," I said, an edge to my tone. "You can barely put on a pair of trousers without fainting and you think you should be headed out?"

"I…promised them I'd be…at the bakery!"

"You're not going to the bakery." I placed a hand on her forehead, gauging her temperature. She was burning up. "You're not going anywhere."

"Dad. I can't stay up in my room because of some stress illness! I really will die then. Of boredom! I need to go out and do things!" She suddenly gave me a very serious look. "And so do you."

There it was again… Her insisting I solve this mystery despite having avoided it before. Why was she still on about this? I'd told her I'd stay by her side and that's what she had wanted… Right…? But these were questions for pondering another time, I decided. Right now she just needed rest.

"Not today," I answered her, meeting her challenging gaze. "I wouldn't want you fainting while you're without my supervision. Do you know how easy it would be for the killer to pick you off when you already practically have one foot in the grave?"

Her only response was a sigh of exasperation.

"Back to bed," I demanded. "I'll phone up the school, tell them you're ill. You can phone your friends and reschedule a time to meet them. If they're worth keeping, they'll understand you need your rest."

As I retrieved my mobile, she clambered into bed and wrapped herself in blankets until the only bit of her I could see were her glaring eyes.

"What would you like for breakfast?" I asked her while awaiting an answer on the other line.

"Nothing…"

I smirked. "Earl Grey it is, then." And with that, I stepped out the door.

I took only about a minute to report the situation to the school before brewing a cup or three of tea and immediately heading back to dote on Justine for another day. Of course, she wasn't too happy about this. The tense silence exacerbated by the chill rolling off her rather frigid shoulder made that painfully obvious… She wanted so badly to be with her friends, I knew. And my lingering anxiety seemed to agree with her. Let her be, it constantly tried to heckle. You should be out looking for more leads and solving puzzles and catching a murderer. But I fought it off, staying firmly put and watching after her while keeping my mind busy reading my agency's morning paper. She couldn't keep up this silent treatment anyway, not when I'd been her father long enough to know all three stages (four if she was being exceptionally difficult) and had developed a counter measure for each one. This time, she'd only lasted until Stage 2: Exasperation before I cracked her. I'd used an outdated browser to search the internet only to find I'd been in the computer search menu the whole time and a soft but definite chuckle had escaped her. I chuckled myself. I thought that might do the trick.

I didn't wish to waste this moment. I'd managed to get her at least reluctantly talking again so I attempted to lighten the mood just a bit more, searching about for more humorous antics. And that's when I found something that had come as a total surprise. It looked as if she'd taken a sip of Earl Grey at some point. The mug had been fit to spill over but was now only brimming. What progress! And the embarrassment when I'd teased her… What a treat!

But Justine wouldn't dare let me get away with finding out. To avenge her pride, she'd forced a video game controller into my hands, determined to make me face my aversion to technology. And then my light-hearted demeanour all but disappeared. That aversion existed for a reason. All those buttons and switches… They reminded me a bit too much of the Mobile Fortress' many dials… They always had, of course, but something about actually holding the device, my fingers loosely grasping a lever, my thumb just inches from a smooth red button… It threw me right back in time to the moment I'd launched a thousand missiles in the air… But…this wasn't the past, I had to remind myself to surface from the darkness. This was a game, something my daughter enjoyed, something she was attempting to share with me. My fears had been keeping me from giving it a chance for long enough. And so, with a smile I jokingly conceded.

After Justine had spent about an hour teaching me (or at least an attempt at it; I had to start with baby steps, after all) she was feeling quite a bit fatigued. So far she didn't appear to be succumbing to anymore fainting spells, so I allowed her some alone time to have a nap. I was ready for a late afternoon lunch anyway, and I could make her something once she'd awoken. As I headed out of her room and for the kitchen, I couldn't stop pondering our morning together. Insignificant it may have seemed to any other family, but to me, and maybe even to Justine, it had been a lovely time. The teasing, the smiles and laughs, her liveliness after I'd beat my first level… It had seemed our conflict from before had ended for good. Perhaps I should do this more often…

This respite, I soon found, wouldn't last however. About half an hour into reading over the insect puzzle, admittedly using a bit of the mystery to stave off the worry eating away at the back of my mind, I heard a dull thud come from Justine's room. Had she fainted again…? I pocketed the puzzle and began down the hall.

"Justine?" I called. "Are you al—"

I cut myself off the moment I walked in. There Justine was on the floor…but not because she had fallen unconscious. Instead, she was sat with…friends… My worry instantly went up in smoke as an angry fire ignited inside me. Friends I certainly don't remember inviting into the house! There was Evelyne in her usual all-black clothing and piercings reading an all-black book with, strangely, no title. Beside her was a short, plump girl in a plaid headdress—a hijab I believe Justine had called it—whom I assume was the newest member of her growing group as I didn't recognise her. Then, of course, Fayne, who was watching Justine—ogling her, rather… And lastly, the rebellious little ringmaster of this circus, Justine, who was attempting to keep another boy from climbing in through the window… No, she was very much conscious… And, as I watched on in mounting ire, very much in trouble!

"Get out, you sod!" Justine was whisper-yelling in a harsh voice at the boy. "I told you not to come over!" I couldn't see much other than very fair hair, a bit like Richard's… But I didn't need to see the boy to know he was kicking at my house, a _thud_ accompanying each attempt he made to scramble inside.

"You tell 'im, Justine!" Fayne cheered her on.

 _Thud…_ I clenched my jaw.

"Yeah! 'e's bang outta orda! Kick 'is bloo'y arse!" the other girl encouraged, a cat pin on her hijab bouncing as she pumped her fists. So short and small, almost adorable, she was, I was completely taken aback by her vulgarity.

 _Bang…_ And then my features tightened.

Evelyne nonchalantly turned a page.

 _Bang! Bang!_

That's it…

"What. On _earth_. Is going on here…?" was what I had meant to say. What came out, however, was an inhuman growl through grinding teeth.

At this, four pairs of eyes trained on me, and one set, Justine's, widened in sheer terror. She suddenly pulled back inside from half-way out the window and sat up straight.

"Oh…hey, Dad…" she smiled innocently. "It's alright if I have friends over, yeah?"

I folded my arms and stared her down with a scorching glare, about to give her a good piece of my mind. Before I could, however, the boy she had been attempting to keep out interrupted me, slamming his foot into the side of my house a few more times as he wriggled up. I merely watched him, letting his kicks stoke the flames roiling inside me. Eventually, he clambered inside, and with hands on hips and back arched he laughed in triumph.

"Thought you could keep _me_ out, _eh_ , Justine?"

Now that I could fully see who it was, the flames in my guts erupted, nearly spilling out my mouth. "Richie…?" Richard's son… Standing in _my_ house?!

"Hey, it's that _penniless_ reporter _Father's_ told me about!"

I blinked. "Penniless…?"

" _Apologies_ for damaging your _house…_ or… _shack, rather_ … I'll just _buy_ you a _new_ one." The boy crowed again, a snobbish, grating noise that flayed the inside of my ears. "What did this _cost_ …? Only a _couple_ _thousand?_ "

I didn't think I'd ever see a time when Fayne wasn't my least favourite _thing_ on planet Earth. But here it was. Standing in front of me. With icy, conceited eyes… And swept-back revoltingly blonde hair… And that tailored suit! Something the servants I'd had as a kid could have bought me a hundred times over! And that pointed nose so far in the air it could have wrapped round and gone straight up his—

"Dad?" Justine cut off this less gentlemanly thought. "You're going red in the face!" She whipped round to Richie. "See what you do?"

"Yeah, Richie!" Fayne threw in.

"Get out, Richie!" said the other girl. "No one wants ya 'ere!"

"You're just _jealous_ of _me_ ," Richie jeered. "Just _admit_ it!"

And suddenly everyone was talking and jeering and pushing and shoving, all while Evelyne turned yet another page.

"Out!" I cried above the ruckus, aiming a finger at Justine's door. I must have been more vehement than I'd intended as everyone shut up immediately and stared at me. Even Evelyne lifted her eyebrows. To break through this stupefied silence, I forcefully opened the door and jabbed outside. "The lot of you. Clear off, now!"

Deciding they had no choice, everyone got to their feet, offering Justine upset glances as they began to leave single file past me.

"See ya, Miste' Doov," Fayne said softly as he walked by. "Sorreh fer t' troobel…" He seemed genuinely apologetic, but I took this with a pinch of salt. He'd be really sorry if he'd done anything to Justine just now…

"Yeah, sorry, Justine's Dad," added the girl I hadn't been introduced to yet. "You're kinda bein' a right buzzkill, though…" I did hope I got the chance to make her acquaintance at some point but I wasn't sure about her language and attitude based on what I'd seen before. I didn't exactly need Justine out with yet another bad influence…

"Sorry about breaking in," Evelyne said, her indifference making it seem as if she wasn't really sorry at all. At least she didn't make a comment about death… "If it makes you feel better, this won't be a bad memory once you're dead."

Nevermind…

" _Sorry_ or _whatever_ …" Now it was Richie's turn and I knew for a fact he wasn't apologising. Not with such a condescending smirk on his lips… "You know, you can _buy_ _servants_ to have me let _in_ next time. But, I _suppose_ that would cost more than the _ten quid_ you have to your _name_ …"

For a long moment I fixed him in a critical stare. And then a rather devious plan came to mind. It wasn't something the Professor would call gentlemanly, that was certain. But I couldn't help myself. The payoff would be well worth it in the end… I took Richie by the arm and led him out into the hall, shutting the door behind us.

"Hey, _paws_ _off!_ " he yanked his sleeve out of my grasp, patting it down. "People are allowed to _touch_ me only _after_ they've soaked their hands in my _half-million pounds_ lotion… Mind, I said _people_ and not _stray cats_ …"

I swallowed my urge to slug him right in his perfectly straight, white teeth and continued with my plot.

"Do you want to know how many pounds I have on me at present, Richie?"

"Is this a _trick question_?" he asked with a mock chuckle. "'Pounds' is _plural_. You only have _one_ , _don't you?_ "

"Why don't you see for yourself?" I offered him my wallet. With his face scrunched in conceited disgust, he took it between two fingers as if touching something not plated in gold would poison him. I sort of wished it would… But I didn't let my bad mood spoil what happened next. He was checking inside…and the moment he spotted my money, his half-lidded eyes flew open as his tight, pursed lips parted in a gasp.

"B-but… B-but th- _that's_ …" I watched him attempt getting the words to spill out properly, barely resisting the urge to leer myself. "A-and that's j-just in _b-bills_!" He looked up at me, one polished Blucher stepping back as if I was about to pounce. "H-how…? Th-this is more than F- _Father_ pays me in a y- _year_!"

"Hmm, is that so?" I responded, retrieving my wallet from his loose, trembling fingers. "You know, a lot of that goes towards different charities and orphanages…but perhaps I'll make an exception this month. Let's say I did want to hire some servants…" I leaned in with a smile. "You have more than enough for me to choose from, don't you…?"

The blood drained from his face until he was nearly as ashen as the moment Justine had fainted.

"Th-those are _our_ servants!" he shouted with shoulders raised, actually starting to tear up. "I-I'll tell F-Father!"

And with that he dashed straight out of my house.

I watched the door slam shut, allowing myself a short mocking chuckle now. What a victory! Of course, that was nothing more than an empty threat. I wasn't planning on hiring anyone, especially not someone employed by Richard… But maybe just the thought of such an idea would keep Richie from ever speaking to me again.

My moment of light-hearted satisfaction had to come to an end, I knew. I glanced at Justine's door. Someone was in big trouble… Turning round, I allowed my features to pull taut with a thought of her disobedience. And then they naturally pulled tighter as I walked in, spotting Justine climbing out the window in an attempt to run from the inevitable.

"Inside," I commanded. "Now."

The moment she heard my voice she halted and shot her fearful gaze up at me. I must have looked furious. She worriedly glanced away again and I could see the gears turning in her head, contemplating which would be easier to survive, a jump or my wrath. Finally, slowly but surely, she climbed back in, looking not unlike a scolded dog with tail between its legs as she moseyed over and stood before me. Even so, it seemed not even this guilt could quash the inextinguishable fire of defiance flickering in her eyes.

"What's your deal, Dad…?" she muttered.

I ignored the question. "What were you thinking just then?"

"You said I couldn't go out to see friends, so I invited them over…?"

"Without my permission?"

I must have hit a nerve with this comment as she now locked her fiery regard with my own. "Why do I need your permission for that? Look, I get not being allowed to go out at night, but letting friends in here? If anything I was keeping them safer because, as you've brought up a _trillion_ times, the murderer's out there, yeah?"

"Or one of them could have been the murderer."

And now that fire erupted in a full blaze. "That's ridiculous!"

"Justine, we don't know who's been killing people! Do I highly doubt one of your friends is the suspect? Yes. But one can never be too careful." I wouldn't want to lose you too… Over something completely preventable… With a sigh, I shook my head. "I'm trying to keep you safe! And you're ill! I forbade you from doing anything overly strenuous today and you deliberately went against me!"

"Oh yeah, 'cause it's so strenuous talking to my friends! Just admit you don't like them because all you can ever do is judge based on appearance alone!"

"Justine, don't take that tone with me." And that was it. She promptly scoffed and folded her arms tight, completely closing herself off. I stormed on anyway. "I don't want you to become even more ill. You need your rest!" But I had known from the beginning protesting would be a useless tactic. Quite infuriating as my first instinct was to do just that… But if I wanted to get anywhere, I'd need to be compliant. I clenched my teeth as if in physical pain. "I'm…sorry, Just. I understand. Really, I do…" I choked out. It was difficult, this, but at least I was getting somewhere now. She was looking at me again, though I could do without the daggers… "I promise you may invite your friends over another night. For now, though, I need you to rest."

"I rested yesterday."

"You did rest yesterday, but you're not doing much better today, are you?"

"But I don't want to stay cooped up in this house… I feel like a right chicken!"

"What about playing some video games?"

"Done. I even got one-hundred per cent completion and all the achievements on most of them."

"Physics books?"

"Read them cover-to-cover already…"

"Homework?"

She gave me a look. "C'mon, Dad. You know that can barely even be considered homework when I finish it at school."

Okay… Think of a strategy… "Alright. What _would_ keep you in bed for today then?"

At first Justine attempted another objection but stopped and thought on this question. She then confidently looked me in the eye.

"If you continue researching."

Again, she was requesting this… No matter, I couldn't comply anyway. I'd promised to care for her over this mystery. Furthermore, part of her reason for asking could very well be a ploy to get me to leave so she could visit her friends at the bakery or invite them back in. I decided to test her.

"I'll be reading over my notes in the study then. Now go on. Back to bed."

"But weren't you on some bit of the puzzle about visiting a 'building of knowledge'?"

I began to question how she knew this, but just then she shot a hand to her head and doubled up. I instantly forgot my assessment.

"Justine!"

"I'm fine…" She held up a hand to stop me from steadying her.

Slowly, I backed off, waiting for her to straighten, then allowed my rigid demeanour to return.

"Now surely this is a good enough sign you need sleep and me at your side…"

"Okay, look!" she suddenly exclaimed, though her eyes glared at the ground, brow furrowed. From this, I knew she was flustered by what she was about to say next. "I'll admit it! I appreciate you staying with me last night and caring for me and all that, okay? I didn't know what was going on so it was nice that you were… Anyway! My point is…now you're just fussing! I'll have no choice but to keep inviting my friends over or sneaking outside if you don't stop!"

Oh my… She'd gone from Stage One: Cold Shoulder all the way to Stage Three: Retaliation in a heartbeat! And all this due, at least in part, to this mystery… I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose in frustration. Maybe my theory her illness was due to my absence this last week had only been somewhat correct after all. She was certainly pushing me away enough… And I couldn't help but be partially in favour of this. Less time at home meant more time solving this mystery. Well, if she really didn't want me around… I began to consider the possibility, running scenarios through my mind as to how I could go out while remaining aware of her status.

"The only way I'm leaving," I began firmly after a solution came to me, "is if I know for a fact you'll stay in bed…"

"I promise I will, Dad!"

"… _And_ I'll have someone here for you if something happens."

I watched as her hopeful expression fell the moment she realised what I meant.

"No, Dad… Not a—"

"Babysitter. Yes, I believe that will suffice."

"Really? A babysitter?!" Her suddenly bright red cheeks positively glowed amid her ashen face. "I'm _seventeen_!"

Well, she was livid now… I decided this would be the best time to mention my idea of enforcing a schedule. "And the moment you're better and back to going out with friends, school and your internship, I want a schedule submitted to me each morning so I'll know where you'll be."

"A schedule?!" She was even more furious than with my last comment. "Where am I? A concentration camp?! You know, if you would just trust me, this wouldn't be happening!"

"Trust is earned," I said calmly, meeting her fiery stare. "And you haven't exactly been doing much earning lately, have you?" She continued to bore a hole between my eyes and I could have sworn I'd seen an actual spark ignite in those umber depths. I didn't break away. "Now, to bed." I nodded curtly behind her. "Go on."

She clenched her jaw tight, a number of emotions suddenly crossing her features before she turned on her heel and plunged under the sheets, face-down.

"Now then," I said as I took out my mobile. "I'm calling Uncle Cogg over but I'm not leaving until he's here, all right?"

Justine didn't answer.

And in the meantime—I thought with yet another heavy sigh—two cups of Earl Grey. I knew I was going to need them to calm my frustrations…

As I stepped into the kitchen, putting the kettle on, I rang my old servant and mate Cogg. He was the best candidate to care for Justine as not only was he in charge of her internship, but he was someone I knew for a fact couldn't be the murderer. He may seem like one with his brawny stature and burly demeanour, but he was really nothing more than a giant mane of a beard attached to a soft teddy bear. By the time he arrived, I had downed three cups of Earl Grey and after I let him in (enduring a hardy handshake and a bear hug that nearly left me with broken ribs) I downed a fourth, offering him a cup as I informed him of the situation.

"She's been ill," I'd said. "A fainting spell due to stress. I've been keeping her inside and watching after her for the past day or so."

"Oof. She mustn't like that one bit, young sir…" he'd said, worry furrowing his brow.

I'd leaned in with the side of my hand up to my mouth. "Stage Three." His eyes had grown wide. "In a matter of seconds. I'd be careful if I were you."

He assured me he would take good care of Justine and, a bit too enthusiastically, mentioned teaching her some simple and safe mechanical tricks if she was up for it. I wondered about that 'simple and safe' bit, but I didn't wish to tarry much longer. As soon as he headed for Justine's room, wishing me farewell, I left for the library, knowing Justine was in good hands.

I was finally out and about again and I felt the anxiety that had been weighing me down for the last twenty four hours lift a bit from my shoulders. I actually welcomed its urgency. It was a helpful asset now that I could progress, not sit in my bedroom or Justine's constantly thinking about what I could be doing rather than doing it.

Using this to my advantage, I recalled the many different facets of this mystery and broke them down into something I could digest, searching for an achievable goal for the moment. Firstly, what was I looking for. A book on the Powers, the only specific physical thing the insect puzzle had mentioned that might hold another clue. This book lay at a building of knowledge. I'd already assumed this meant a university, and perhaps it still did. It could still very well be Gressenheller. Or it could mean its library, a place I had meant to go after my interview with Tysan, but due to Justine's illness, had never got the chance. I made a mental note to head there later if I still had time tonight. The book might also be located at a different university, but there weren't any as close as Gressenheller, nor were there any bookstores, another possible candidate, that were near my house and I wanted to remain within the vicinity in case something happened to Justine. So for now my only option was a library a street away. And as I looked up, I saw I was already at my location. Let's finally make some progress.

However, just as I was walking in, my mobile began to ring and the mystery all but vanished from my mind, replaced by thoughts of what could have happened to Justine or Cogg or both. Had she fainted again? Had Cogg destroyed the house? I swiftly answered.

"Hello, is everything al—"

" _Dove_ …"

This was clearly a mistake in hindsight. Richard…

"Good afternoon, Richard," I answered. I had the urge to be as pompous as possible with him, but I'd already been less than gentlemanly with his son so I decided against this for now. "I'm rather busy at the moment. If you could make this quick?"

"You know what I'm gonna make _quick_ , _Dove_? Wringin' your _pencil-thin neck_."

I blinked. Oh my… "What's tied a knot in your trousers…?"

"What did you _do_ to my _boy_ to make him run home _cryin'_?"

I scoffed. "He cried over that?"

"What did you _bloody_ do?"

"Easy," I said, leaning against the stone stair wall leading up to the library. I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon I could see… "He was being a right tyrant, Richie. Insulted my earnings and the like, a lot like what you do on the daily. So I let him have a look inside my wallet. When he saw how much I had, I merely implied I'd hire your servants and he legged it. That's all that happened."

"A right load of waffle, that!"

And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you… "And what do you propose happened, eh?"

"You _gobbed_ on him, firstly!"

"I did what…?"

"Then you _pushed_ him _around_ a bit!"

"No, I don't—"

"And then you _picked_ him up by the _breeches_ , _flipped_ him upside-down and _shook_ the money out of his _pockets_!"

"I'm sorry, are you suggesting I mugged a boy from the 1920s…?"

"Probably _stole_ some too, I'd bet. What with you on _holiday_ , not earning a single _penny_ …"

"Now that's enough waffle to make breakfast!" I countered. "All I did was poke fun at how spoilt he is… Something his father could certainly stand to remedy!"

"Look, _Dove._ Don't you _ever_ lay a _grimy hand_ on my boy _again_."

"I never laid any hand on him in the first place!"

"I'll make _sure_ you make the _papers_. I'll ring the _police, Dove_." And just before he promptly hung up he shouted, "Keep _away_ from my _boy_!"

With pleasure! I swiftly pocketed my phone. Bloody… Certainly wound up, he was! All because that no good, little…! I sighed, taking a second to calm myself. What was I expecting, I supposed. It wouldn't have mattered if Richie had lied or not. I could never hope for reason from someone who took pride in twisting the truth…

Shaking this conversation off, I finally entered the library. The moment I left the entry and stepped into the main building, I had to stop and marvel at all the books on display. Shelves and shelves, for as far as I could see. And somewhere amongst them was the possibility of a book on some Universal Powers. A theoretical needle in a haystack…

It wasn't as if I hadn't known there would be thousands of books. Before this murder case I would come here regularly to pick up a number of murder-mysteries to enjoy in my leisure time, small as that was (and before Justine's more extraverted days she would join me with a science book or five). I suppose I had just been so caught up in the mystery itself I'd not really taken the chance to look into the details, visualise the library and consider how large it was, how many books I'd need to search through to find the correct one. If there was a correct one… If not, I'd have wasted hours, perhaps days all while the killer picked off more citizens… Well, I was here now and I had left Justine in order to do this so I had to come up with a something. I had been quite skilled at making up plans on the go when I'd enforced my revenge. I could certainly do the same now while catching a murderer. Start small. Start basic. What could I use to help me? A map of the library? A computer to search the database? Or maybe…

A brilliant idea suddenly came to me. The insect puzzle. It had been my guide so far. I slipped a hand into my pocket and retrieved the sheet, beginning to read over the deciphered message.

'Congratulations on solving the puzzle'…

I stopped. The letters. They were…faded? I thought back to this morning when I'd read it over in the sitting room. I couldn't remember seeing this then… Was this a clue? I lifted the paper up to the light and tilted it back and forth. No matter how much I illuminated the words or the angle at which I held them, though, they remained almost illegible. Or had my pen not worked when I'd decoded the insect? I had been in a rush after all as I was still at the office at the time. But certainly I could read the message quite clearly before…? Perhaps it had been simply rubbing against itself too much. I'd kept it in my pocket all day yesterday and after running round from work to home to Gressenheller to the hospital to home once more, I suppose the ink was wearing away. Maybe typing it up would help increase its survivability with me…

Retiring these thoughts for now, I skimmed the full message from the author, remembering my theory from last night they may very well be on my side, attempting to foil the plans of whoever it was—Tysan, Hawks or someone completely unknown—going about killing Londoners. The author couldn't at present explain why I was involved. Every message from them had to be concealed behind a puzzle and I could only see these puzzles because I was important to the author. I was meant to continue on and all would be revealed in due time. Was this a puzzle in and of itself, one that told me where the book on these Powers lay? Was there something I was missing?

But the more I reread the message, the more I was certain that was all it was. A message, plain and simple. I still had the poem. However, this didn't seem to be much of a clue either. Even reading over the bit about the building of knowledge and the book of Powers that resided there didn't betray a specific location. I suppose if these answers I was uncovering were meant to be kept hidden from someone else, there was a reason finding this book was so difficult. But there were lives at stake here…

I began to walk and read at the same time, making my way to a table at the back of the library where I could continue to research without too much distraction. I needed to plot out a better way to approach this situation. Firstly, was the book even here? I glanced up for a moment to be sure I wasn't about to run into anyone, then looked down again to continue reading the paper. Maybe there was a clue in the poem about that? I didn't even need a specific location. Just something more than a building of knowledge. I looked up again to see how near I was to the table, then back down to the poem again. And I suddenly stopped. Just a moment ago, something had popped up on the paper. I was sure of it… But there was nothing there now. No… It must have been a flash of sunlight from the window I'd passed playing tricks with my eyes…

I continued to walk and ponder. Maybe there was a line in here that hinted at a certain building of knowledge? One with professors? I looked up once more. Nearly there. Then looked back down. Maybe a building of knowledge with books? I glanced up. Glanced back down. Maybe a hint about ones I could purchase and ones I could check out? Glanced up and then back down. And…there it was again! I'd seen another flash of light cross the paper and along with it another…something or another pop up. But, again, there was nothing there… I shook my head. I was so bent on finding clues I was hallucinating them! Better get to that table before I was seeing more than just light bursts…

I walked on in haste, watching the paper, thinking of more possibilities that could be of help…when I was stopped yet again by flashes of colour and what I had only been catching snatches of reappearing in full.

"Blimey…" I breathed. Numbers… I glanced over them. Again and again. There were numbers amongst the faded letters… But these weren't the same numbers I'd already deciphered. These formed a fresh line of Fibonacci code!

And now I felt inclined to run, no longer for the table I was so close to but for the nearest study room. But I was struck with a sudden thought that caused me to stay put. What if they disappeared? They weren't like the others that had appeared to me all at once in the form of the insect, so why now? Was it based on time? Was it this location? Maybe time and location? What if they vanished the moment I left this spot? What if they vanished now? I shook my head. Well, if so, this was no time for thinking!

I stole into my pocket and grabbed a notepad and pen, jotting this newest set of numbers down in a messy scrawl. All I could do afterwards was stare. Out of awe another clue had come to me. Out of fear it would disappear anyway. So far, it stayed, each second that ticked by calming my worries. And so too the line on the original paper stayed. So perhaps their appearance wasn't based on time… But it could still be location.

I looked about, gathering my surroundings. I was at a window near the very back of the library. Stained glass. The only one like it here. Near shelves 'Za to Ze' of the historical section and, on the other side, 'Ab to Ac' of science. And once I had an image of this area formulated in my mind, I set off. No time to waste, just in case.

I strode for the front desk, quickly requested a study room and then locked everyone else out the moment I entered. Once I seated myself, I looked back at the numbers in my notepad and sighed in relief. They were still here. I unfolded the original insect puzzle and compared them. I was right to have trusted my instincts on this. The numbers were gone. At once I had multiple questions as to why this might be. My location theory might be right but… I glanced to the words from the first set of numbers I'd deciphered. They were still faded. What if this new line's appearance was somehow attributed to the original message disappearing? The timing of these events seemed to concur after all.

Either way, I had the numbers and that was all that mattered. I could ponder more on their appearance later. For now, I needed to decode them. With this, I set the page of numbers above the insect puzzle sheet and, with my other sheet featuring the Fibonacci numbers, began to write out the newest message under the old, faded one.

"Six-ten," I muttered almost silently to myself, my eyes constantly jumping about, my pen following the code until I found the number I was looking for. "'N'. Nine-eighty-seven, 'O'. Forty-six-thirty-six-eight, 'W'…"

For the next five to ten minutes I scoured and scribbled, scoured and scribbled, until I had the very last letter. Even then, I didn't set my pen down. I was too enraptured by the message I now had to do much of anything but take the sheet in hand and read it over, completely and totally astonished.

'Now the book is very close by

And remember, light is the key

A new place is what you must try

And you must know cryptography'

I read it over again. And again for good measure. Another bit of the poem… So it seemed the book was close by. And I needed to search a new location. Did that mean a new location in the library? Or a new location altogether? I should assume for now it meant inside the library. I could have a look around and be finished by tonight, checking off this 'building of knowledge' from my mental list if I didn't find it.

And how to go about finding it? I already had an idea. Those numbers had disappeared on the original message once I'd left. Perhaps the location of the book and that of the numbers reappearing coincided. I recalled the area of the library I'd been before. Back corner. 'Za to Ze historical'. 'Ab to Ac science'. Large, stained glass window. And with my vigour renewed, I set off once more.

As I walked past loads of shelves, totally oblivious to the people I was budging through, I took this chance to look back at this last stanza. Something about cryptography? This was a fairly broad term that included many different types and though Professor Layton's interest in puzzles may have rubbed off on, I knew for a fact there were some I could never hope to understand. Particularly, the digital kind… Perhaps I could ask Justine about this if it came to it…

Whether or not this would be the case, I knew even digital cryptography shared the same basic definition as all the rest. To encode and decode messages from one party to another without a third party's knowledge. So if the author was the encoder and I was the decoder… I now glanced at the third stanza. 'The one furthest away can see what you see.' Was it this person, or persons, furthest away who was the third party the author was trying to keep the messages and poems from? Had my theory been right, that the third party could see these insects? Could they attempt to solve them and potentially use them for something involving the Powers? Or had they been solving them already…?

If so, then these thoughts would solidify two working theories: That the author and I were on the same side and that someone else, the killer perhaps, could also see the puzzles. I would remain sceptical until I was certain, though. I knew what it was like to ask my pawns to trust me only to betray them in the end, and I myself did not intend to become a pawn in this game. I would find the truth…and hopefully in time to save any other potential victims.

I glanced up to see I had returned to the back corner of the library. There was the single table as well as the shelves, the end of 'historical' and the beginning of 'science'. And the stained glass window, scattering a kaleidoscope of colours on the floor. Like a rainbow spotlight it seemed to beckon me. I didn't hesitate a moment longer.

As I stepped over and held up the insect puzzle, sure enough amongst the clash of reds, blues, greens and purples the newest line of numbers appeared, identical to the ones I'd written down. I shielded the paper with my hand and when the sunbeam no longer connected, the numbers disappeared. That really was it… I glanced back at the poem, studying the very last line on the final stanza of the original message. 'So hunt only by the light.' And then the newest message, 'light is the key'. I didn't know how. I didn't know why. Maybe my science fanatic of a daughter could explain it, but I certainly couldn't. Light really was the key to finding new clues.

But…why sunlight? I found myself wondering. If I was to acquire more answers like this one, I'd need to know as many specifics as possible. Was it something about the stained glass? It was the only decorative window in the place, after all…

And then I looked outside. The brilliant illumination was not, in fact, the sun, but a street lamp that had flickered on in the settling twilight. More specifically, a lamp from Gressenheller University that overlooked the library. My heart leapt in my chest. The building of knowledge, my instinct of not giving up on the university and now this light from the university itself, revealing a stanza of the poem that not only hinted at a different location but also claimed the book was close. They were all directing me back to Gressenheller. It seemed the light was shining a way towards a brighter future for both students and potential victims in this case.

And, I couldn't forget what else was at Gressenheller. Whatever was in Tysan's desk drawer. His journal mentioned the Powers and if he'd been nervous just talking to me about that, then surely, _certainly_ , the object in his desk that he would have killed to keep secret really was the book I'd been searching for this whole time…

But how to go about retrieving it when the man was already wary of me? I had thought earlier that day of scheduling another interview, but how could I do so without him becoming suspicious or attempting to kill me? My features tightened. I didn't like the idea that had just slunk in from the darker corner of my mind. Break in.

I shook my head, clearing it of this thought. Perhaps… For now, I needed to head home, add to my wall of notes these newest connections and discoveries. Afterwards I'd plan out my next move. I hoped this next move would not involve my infiltrating a man's office to steal, but if it did…so be it. This was to stop the murders after all.

I put these thoughts behind me for now as I began for home, a sort of giddiness stirring in my chest once more. A new clue. Another step closer to catching the crook… I couldn't have been happier.

This moment, however, was short lived.

As I stepped out the door, my mobile began to ring. I looked to the screen to see Mary's number.

"Good evening, Mary," I answered quickly, a bit carried away by my excitement. I chuckled. "It's not exactly five in the morning. What are you doing calling so late?"

"Sorry to interrupt your holiday, Clive!" she said. I noted she was only attempting to sound chipper.

"Something the matter?" I asked.

She hesitated but a moment, and then…

"Eeeyeah… There's been another Hourglass Murder…"

Deep underground, far under London's streets, Thanat was pacing about. Each sharp turn, each angry crack of his heel caused his hostage to flinch against the steel bars that caged him. But for once he wasn't paying the man any mind.

Where was his spy? Thanat ruminated, the thought a hornet buzzing about his mind, prodding and stinging again and again. It had been taking longer and longer to meet him here as of late… And it had been doubting him and what they were doing… But had he not convinced it by reminding it of its parents? That they could both find their loved ones again…? Surely it wouldn't betray him after all this time?!

"—hy…?" a voice materialised amongst his thoughts before a _buzz_ and prompt _zap_ forced its soft cadence into a muffled shriek.

Thanat would have appreciated this much more if it hadn't cut through his concentration. He nearly hissed through his teeth. " _What. Is it…?_ "

The hostage trembled, but this was from the shock leaving his system, not his captor. In fact, he watched Thanat with a calm he'd trained himself to feel during these dark times. They were feeding him, giving him water, keeping him alive for torture. And he'd seen it. His son and grandson, his granddaughter, now his adoptive mother… All dead because he wouldn't comply. He missed them. Dearly, he missed them. But he would continue to refuse, to fight, to stare down the man who stood over him. He had chosen justice over their lives and he knew that's what they all would have wanted.

"Why…are you…" he got out before stifling another shriek as the shock collar bit into his neck. After a convulsion and a fit of coughs, he caught his breath and continued. "…doing this…?"

Thanat watched the man as another shock ripped into his throat. His body convulsed, his breathing grew laboured, but those dark eyes never left him. So, there was still some fight in him… Surprising. He'd never seen a hostage last this long.

"Your tenacity is commendable," he said. He genuinely meant this. He could respect those who fought for their goals and passions. It's what he was doing, after all… "Unfortunately, you're wasting your energy. You could never understand my intentions."

"I can't imagine…" the man said, enduring another shock, "it's…money you want…"

"And you'd be right. My organisation is not interested in this world's riches. And even if they were, I myself have far greater goals to achieve. What I will have in the end are riches more valuable than all the world's money. More power than the Powers themselves!"

And the very moment the words left his lips, Thanat doubled up, wincing, pressuring a hand to his forehead. When he forced his eyes open amid the pain, he saw not the underground laboratory, but something else. Something that was becoming more and more familiar to him with each passing hour…

" _Commander Thanat?_ " came a voice. Thanat turned to see a man standing before him, cloaked in black from head to toe. " _Good, you're awake. We need your next order. From whom shall we extract next?_ "

" _Commander Thanat!_ " came another voice. Again, Thanat turned but made no effort to speak. " _The extraction has failed…_ "

 _Keep looking…_ he heard his own voice command though his lips didn't move. _Find more subjects… We need more…_

And then he stood above a crowd he didn't remember calling.

" _This is an incredible undertaking, Commander. We offer you our services._ "

Hundreds, thousands of people moved as one, crossing arms over chests and bowing in deep respect.

 _Don't bother me… This process is failing and you know it… If he won't aid me, then I need only two people for this endeavour… Alive… And I will be the one to take their lives once I'm finished…_

The images disappeared from Thanat's mind, leaving him standing in the underground lab once more. What were they trying to tell him…? He couldn't seem to remember them…

No matter. He turned his back on his hostage, facing one of the many walls surrounding him that housed his other captives. He wouldn't waste his time on the past, fabricated or not. He had plans only for the future. And once his spy returned, he would be one step closer.

At another time and another place, a different spy was waiting. He should have been here by now, he was thinking. He had needed his input yesterday after all… He didn't like sitting here. Anticipating. Watching. Looking about, his eyes darting to every little noise. He was in a special area, away from the rowdy, raucous cries of the damned. But he would have taken shouting over the dead silence of this place…

A creak sounded in front of him. The man jolted in his chair, looking before him to see who he had come to speak to. Most of him was hidden in the shadows that lingered in every corner of this dark dungeon, but he could very clearly make out the ice-blue eyes that pierced him like shards. His superior's stare made what he had come to say even harder to choke out.

"Oh… It's only you…" he stuttered in good-nature, holding a shaking hand to his chest.

Those cold eyes watched him. Unblinking. Not a trace of a smile in their depths.

"What do you bloody mean 'it's only you'?" came just the whisper of a voice. "Have you forgotten who holds your very life in his hands?"

Such hatred in those breathed words… "M-My apologies, sir… I…suppose I should start explaining…"

"So why haven't you done so yet?" the man questioned. He leaned in, those shards of ice drawing closer, like daggers at his throat. "Eh?"

"R-Right, sir…" Thank Christ he couldn't touch him here… His stare was bad enough… He swallowed, clenched and unclenched his teeth, then relayed the bad news. "Those puzzles… They…"

"Yes?"

"Th-They're…the same as the one from Thanat, sir…"

What he received as an answer was a chilling silence. His superior sat there, his cold gaze biting into his skin like frost. His heart pumped faster and faster, his umber eyes unable to perceive what the man was thinking. He found himself once again wishing for shouting over dead silence…

And he received it.

"What could you possibly mean?!"

The man had slammed his fists, the clanking of metal intensifying his sudden shriek. The inferior flinched backward.

"I-I…"

"How can that possibly be?! There's meant to be one with a code for…!" The superior stopped himself. Set a hand on his forehead and just breathed for a second. "Surely you've been placing the Hourglasses on the bodies so he could actually find them…?"

"Yes, sir. Of course…"

"In the locations I've told you to?"

"Yes, sir…"

"Then there must be something he's missed…"

"I-If it's any consolation, sir, I forgot to mention…" he smiled at his superior, certainly this would placate him. "He found out that light reveals more clues."

The man watched the floor for a moment. Before long, those two icicles were boring into his inferior once more.

"Where's he at?"

The other man hesitated, the sweat that had already been beading on his forehead slipping past his brow.

"Answer me."

"He's…"—he inhaled then exhaled—"He's at the bit about the book…"

"Don't stop him."

The inferior watched his superior in shock.

"But…what if…?"

"Don't stop him, I said." He watched as his inferior blanched. "Don't disappoint me. In fact, you said there was another body? Go move it. Now."

"N-Now…sir…?"

"Yes! And this time, add a bit of the book…"

"The book…?"

"Are you a bloody parrot? Go! Now!"

The man didn't move.

The superior pinpointed his inferior with a stare so intense it could have drawn blood.

"You think just because he's out there and I'm in here I can't hurt you more?"

The inferior looked up at his superior, his eyes wild with fear.

"But…"

"You want to keep your life, don't you?"

"Yes, sir…"

"Then don't worry about your wife and sons. Do as _I_ say. The body." He slammed his fist and again the clanking of metal nearly jolted the inferior out of his skin. "Now."

"Y-yes, sir. As you wish."

But as the inferior left his superior's presence, suppressing the urge to vomit, he knew he had to choose. Which poison to pick? he thought, gagging. His own life or his family's?

And who else would he have to sacrifice along the way…?


End file.
